Spacehounds of I PC
by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D.
The Stolen Chrysalis
by J. Rogers Ullrich
The Metal Monster
by Otis Adelbert Kline
July, 1931
AMAZING STORIES
289
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Amazing Stories
Scientific Fiction
Vol. 6
IULES VERNE’S TOMBSTONE AT AMIENS
PORTRAYING HIS IMMORTALITY
\n Our N ext Issue
SUBMICROSCOPIC, by Capt. S. P. Meek, U.S.A.
If by some means, scientific, of course, one could
transport himself to another atom— or world—
what would he be likely to find? If Einstein is
right that all things are relative, then size is, too.
In other words, if we should be reduced in size,
and the world we go into, should be proportionately
smaller, then we would not feel or see the differ-
ence in size. Capt. Meek, in this story, touches on
a somewhat new field for him and he gets an ex-
ceedingly happy result — as you will agree, after
you have read this story.
THE TIME HOAXERS, by Paul Bolton. Here is
something different — an unusual time-story, treated
in a unique manner. Every generation leaves its
documentary records— some in the form of hiero-
glyphics carved in stone ; some in the form of pic-
tures, etc. And perhaps in the future, newspapers
will be just as much an oddity. Our new author
has ingeniously woven his theme into a thoroughly
novel sketch. We are glad to welcome Mr. Bol-
ton to our group of authors.
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC, by Edward E. Smith,
Ph.D. (A Serial in three parts) Part II. Almost
anything that can be said about this story will be
superfluous to those who have read the first instal-
ment. There seems no limit to the doctor’s ability
to do better and better. These chapters are fast-
moving, thrilling and full of science.
THE SUPERMAN, by A. H. Johnson. Because
we felt sure that "The Raid of the Mercury” would
be hailed as a gem, we are giving the sequel to the
story before too much time elapses. Because this
story is much longer, the author avails himself,
creditably, of the opportunity to elaborate on some
very startling scientific ideas.
THE FORGOTTEN WORLD, by
Crowded out of the last issue.
E. Bauer.
And other unusual scientific fiction.
July, 1931
No. 4
I n Our July I ssue
Spacehounds of IPG
(A Serial in three parts) Part 1
By Edward E. Smith, Ph.D 294
Illustrated by Wesso
What Do You Know?
(Science Questionnaire) 319
Cleon of Yzdral
By P. Schuyler Miller 320-
Illustrated by Paul
The Jameson Satellite
By Neil R. Jones 334
Illustrated by Morey
The Metal Monster
By Otis Adalbert Kline 344
Illustrated by Morey
The Raid of the Mercury
By A. H. Johnson 364
Illustrated by Morey
The Night Express (A Poem)
By Julia Boynton Green 371
The Stolen Chrysalis
By J. Rogers Ullrich 372
Illustrated by Paul
In the Realm of Rooks 379 -
Discussions 379
Our Cover
this issue depicts a scene from the story entitled, “The Metal
Monster,” by Otis Adelbert Kline, in which is seen the power-
ful electroplane, sent out for research purposes, just as it
escapes from the inimical beings below the crater. The immerse
metal sphere shoots directly up from the crater and follows in
hot pursuit.
Published Monthly by Radio-Science Publications, Inc., Jamaica, N. Y.
EDITORIAL AND EXECUTIVE OFFICES
381 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY, N. Y.
OFFICERS
W. Z. Shafer, President
G. L. Harrington, Vice President
Laurence A. Smith, Treasurer
Byrd D. Wise, Secretary
Entered as second class matter at the Post Office at Jamaica,
N. Y., under the act of March 3, 1879. Copyright, 1931, by
Radio-Science Publications, Inc. All rights reserved. Title Reg-
istered at the U. S. Patent Office. Printed in the United States of
America. The contents of this magazine must not be reproduced
without permission. We cannot be responsible for lost manu-
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change of address must reach
us five weeks in advance cf
the next date of issue.
July, 1931
AMAZING STORIES
291
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AMAZING STORIES
July, 1931
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Extravagant Fiction Today Cold Fact Tomorrow ^
Waves and Rays
By T. O’Conor Sloane, Ph.D.
HE subject of rays has been a great attraction for
speculative dreamers, who picture to themselves
what rays may eventually be made to do. Rays are
invoked as acting upon distant objects. Some
years ago we were told of rays which, directed
upon an automobile, would bring it to rest, inter-
fering with and nullifying the action of the electric ignition
system. A ray that could do this would have a wonderful effect
in war. An airplane’s engine could be stopped and the aviator
would have to concern _himself with getting to a landing. If
two fighting planes used the ray on each other, both would go
down and be out of the fighting.
In the World War there were two achievements impressive
by' their originality and effectiveness. They also hold out a pos-
sibility of immense development. One was the long range
“Paris” gun, as it is sometimes called. This dropped shells of
about eight inches caliber into the city of Paris, some 75 miles
distant. The shells reached an approximate vacuum as they
rose, and their ballistic curve on this account must have ap-
proximated the parabola. The projectiles did comparatively
little harm. The effect was to frighten the enemy. The an-
ticipation of the shells exploding in the heart of the city was
appalling. The worst injury to life was u'hen, by an irony of
fate, one of them broke down the roof of a crowded church
and killed a number of non-combatants.
Suppose a ray could have been developed to interfere with the
infinitesimal action of the firing system of a gun— for every shot
solved a problem in higher mathematics — it would have seemed
like a nullification of the greatest efforts of the artillerists. The
ray might have been produced in a distant airplane. But no
such ray has been discovered.
The tank is destined to play an increasing part in future wars.
It is being developed into a moving fortress. If the ray, which
can arrest the motion of a gas engine, were a true story, it could
do much to nullify the use of the tank, for the latter must be
mobile. Without mobility it is reduced to uselessness or near
to it When the account of the ray we speak of first appeared
in the papers, many believed the story, as it was told, to the
effect that automobiles were brought to rest from a distance by
the new emanation. The description read like a romance.
The above is merely imaginary, and is written to bring out
the fact that there are undreamed of possibilities of developments
in rays, and that it is not safe to limit these possibilities.
But there is more to be said than this. In all the physical
world, nothing is more essential to the life of man than rays.
Without rays the universe would cease to exist for mankind and
all life would vanish. This is a trite assertion, for we all know
that we depend upon the sun for the heat necessary to existence
and for light and that heat and light reach us by rays. Exactly
what rays are is none too certain. They are generally taken
as ether waves. Having given us the heat from the sun so
that we can live, rays give us light from the same luminary so
that we can see. But they do much more than this, for the light
rays of the sun have much to do with our health and life.
Wireless communication is one of the wonders of the age, and
it is carried out by waves of ether comparatively long, con-
stituting rays. These waves are so long that they carry neither
heat nor light, but they are the vehicles or pathway, as it may be
termed, for all sorts of impressed waves and these impressed
upon them at the sending station, give the sounds we listen to
from our radios, with far too little amazement.
Rays tend to spread over the spherical elements, of which
their point of origin is the center. This spreading weakens their
power and forms one of the limitations to long-distance radio
work. Long ether waves are very intractable, and are hard to
reflect and refract, if we compare these qualities or factors to
the corresponding ones of light.
As we approach the region of the spectrum, the rays become
shorter and more tractable. They can be reflected and refracted
and give us heat and light. In the ultra-violet region of shorter
waves the actinic effects appear, and these rays are used as
remedial agents. They produce sun-burn. The still shorter X-
rays produce another more intense and permanent burn and if
enough exposure is submitted to, they can slowly maim and kill.
They can pass through many substances. Lead is one of the best
shields.
The Millikan, or cosmic ray, is far more penetrative than the
X-ray, and it is everywhere ; several feet thickness of lead is
needed to shield it off. Its waves are very short. And now' a
cheerful theory has been advanced to the effect that cosmic rays
act to kill us, and that the cosmic rays may operate to shorten
our lives, to eventually prove fatal to every man. This curious
theory would make us immortal or nearly so, if the cosmic rays
could be cut off.
It is a strange thought and an interesting one, that, except for
the cosmic ray, we might live for years of many generations.
293
/
Beginning a Thrilling New Serial
of Interplanetary Life and Travel
by Edward E . Smith , Ph. D,
Author of “Skylark of Space and “ Skylark Three”
PART I
Sp acehounds
of IPC
/9 GOOD many of us, who are now certain beyond a doubt that space travel
-/JL will forever remain in the realm of the impossible, probably would, if a
rocket that were shot to the moon, for instance, did arrive, and perhaps return to
give proof of its safe arrival on our satellite, accept the phenomenon in a per-
fectly blase, twentieth century manner. Dr. Smith, that phenomenal writer of
classic scientific fiction, seems to have become so thoroughly convinced of the
advent of interplanetary travel that it is difficult for the reader to feel, after
finishing “ Spacehounds of IPC,” that travel in the great spaces is not already
an established fact. Dr. Smith, as a professional chemist, is kept fairly busy.
As a writer, he is satisfied with nothing less than perfection. For that reason, a
masterpiece from his pen has become almost an annual event. W e know you
will like “Spacehounds” even better than the “ Skylark ” series.
Illustrated by WESSO
CHAPTER I
The IPV Arcturus Sets Out for Mars
A NARROW football of steel, the Interplanetary-
Vessel Arcturus stood upright in her berth in
the dock like an egg in its cup. A hundred
feet across and a hundred and seventy feet
deep was that gigantic bowl, its walls sup-
ported by the structural steel and concrete of the dock
and lined with hard-packed bumper-layers of hemp and
fibre. High into the air extended the upper half of the
ship of space — a sullen gray expanse of fifty-inch
hardened steel armor, curving smoothly upward to a
needle prow. Countless hundred of fine vertical scratches
marred every inch of her surface, and here and there the
stubborn metal was grooved and scored to a depth of
inches — each scratch and score the record of an attempt
of some wandering cosmic body to argue the right-of-
way with the stupendous mass of that man-made cruiser
of the void.
A burly young man made his way through the throng
about the entrance, nodded unconcernedly to the gate-
keeper, and joined the stream of passengers flowing
through the triple doors of the double air-lock and down
a corridor to the center of the vessel. However, instead
of entering one of the elevators which were whisking the
passengers up to their staterooms in the upper half of
the enormous football, he in some way caused an opening
to appear in an apparently blank steel wall and stepped
through it into the control room.
“Hi, Breck!” the burly one called, as he strode up to
the instrument-desk of the chief pilot and tossed his bag
carelessly into a corner. “Behold your computer in the
flesh ! What’s all this howl and fuss about poor com-
putation ?”
“Hello, Steve!” The chief pilot smiled as he shook
hands cordially. “Glad to see you again — but don’t try to
kid the old man. I’m simple enough to believe almost
anything, but some things just aren’t being done. We
have been yelling, and yelling hard, for trained com-
puters ever since they started riding us about every one-
294
Stevens made out a relatively tiny ball of metal , . , at a distanceof perhaps a mile. From this ball there shot a blinding plane cif :
light, and the Arcturus fell apart . . ,
295
296
AMAZING STORIES
centimeter change in acceleration, but I know that you’re
no more an I-P computer than I am a Digger Indian.
They don’t shoot sparrows with coast-clefense guns!”
“Thanks for the compliment, Breck, but I’m your com-
puter for this trip, anyway. Newton, the good old egg,
knows what you fellows are up against and is going to
do something about it, if he has to lick all the rest of
the directors to do it. He knew that I was loose for a
couple of weeks and asked me to come along this trip
to see what I could see. I’m to check the observatory-
data — they don’t know I’m aboard — take the peaks and
valleys off your acceleration curve, if possible, and re-
port to Newton just what I find out and what I think
should be done about it. How early am I ?” While the
newcomer was talking, he had stripped the covers from
a precise scale model of the solar system and from a
large and complicated calculating machine and had set
to work without a wasted motion or instant — scaling off
upon the model the positions of the various check-stations
and setting up long and involved integrals and equations
upon the calculator.
The older man studied the broad back of the younger,
bent over his computations, and a tender, almost fatherly
smile came over his careworn face as he replied :
“Early? You? Just like you always were — plus fif-
teen seconds on the deadline. The final dope is due right
now.” He plugged the automatic recorder and speaker
into a circuit marked “Observatory,” waited until a tiny
light above the plug flashed green, and spoke.
“IPV Arcturiis; Breckenridge, Chief Pilot; trip num-
ber forty-three twenty-nine. Ready for final supplemen-
tary route and flight data, Tellus to Mars.”
“Meteoric swarms still too numerous for safe travel
along the scheduled route,” came promptly from the
speaker. “You must stay further away from the plane
of the ecliptic. The ether will be clear for you along
route E2-P6-W 4 1 -K3-R I9-S7-M 1 4. You will hold a
constant acceleration of 981.27 centimeters between
initial and final check stations. Your take-off will be
practically unobstructed, but you will have to use the ut-
most caution in landing upon Mars, because in order to
avoid a weightless detour and a loss of thirty-one
minutes, you must pass very close to both the Martian
satellites. To do so safely you must pass the last
meteorological station, M14, on schedule time plus or
minus five seconds, at scheduled velocity plus or minus
ten meters, with exactly the given negative acceleration
of 981.27 centimeters, and exactly upon the pilot ray
M14 will have set for you.”
“All x.” Breckenridge studied his triplex chronometer
intently, then unplugged and glanced around the control
room, in various parts of which half a dozen assistants
were loafing at their stations.
“Control and power check-out — Hipe !” he barked.
“Driving converters and projectors!”
The first assistant scanned his meters narrowly as he
swung a multi-point switch in a flashing arc. “Converter
efficiency 100, projector reactivity 100; on each of num-
bers one to forty-five inclusive. All x.”
“Dirigible projectors !”
T WO more gleaming switches leaped from point to
point. “Converter efficiency 100, projector reac-
tivity 100, dirigibility 100, on each of numbers one to
thirty-two, inclusive, of upper band ; and numbers one
to thirty-two, inclusive, of lower band. All x.”
“Gyroscopes !”
“35,000. Drivers in equilibrium at ten degrees plus.
All x.’
“Upper lights and lookout plates!”
The second assistant was galvanized into activity, and
upon a screen before him there appeared a view as
though he were looking directly upward from the prow
of the great vessel. The air above them was full of air-
craft of all shapes and sizes, and occasionally the image
of one of that flying horde flared into violet splendor
upon the screen as it was caught in the mighty, roving-
beam of one of the twelve ultra-light projectors under
test.
“Upper lights and lookout plates — all x,” the second
assistant reported, and other assistants came to attention
as the check-out went on.
“Lower lights and lookout plates !”
“All x,” was the report, after each of the twelve
ultra-lights of the stern had swung around in its support-
ing brackets, illuminating every recess of the dark depths
of the bottom well of the berth and throwing the picture
upon another screen in lurid violet relief.
“Lateral and vertical detectors !”
“Laterals XP2710 — all x. Verticals AJ4290 — all x.”
“Receptors !”
“15,270 kilof ranks — all x.”
“Accumulators !”
“700,000 kilofrank-hours — all x.”
Having thus checked and tested every function of his
department, Breckenridge plugged into “Captain,” and
when the green light went on :
“Chief pilot check-out — all x,” he reported briefly.
“All x,” acknowledged the speaker, and the chief pilot
unplugged. Fifteen minutes remained, during which
time one department head after another would report
to the captain of the liner that everything in his charge
was ready for the stupendous flight.
“All x, Steve?” Breckenridge turned to the computer.
“How do you check acceleration and power with the
observatory ?”
“Not so good, old bean,” the younger man frowned
in thought. “They figure like astronomers, not naviga-
tors. They’ve made no allowances for anything, not
even the reversal — and I figure four thousands for that
and for minor detours. Then there’s check station
errors. . . .”
“'Check-station errors ! Why, they’re always right —
that’s what they’re for !”
“Don’t fool yourself — they’ve got troubles of their
own, the same as anybody else. In fact, from a stud}’ of
the charts of the last few weeks, I’m pretty sure that E2
is at least four thousand kilometers this side of where he
thinks he is, that W41 is ten or twelve thousand beyond
his station, and that they’ve both got a lateral displace-
ment that’s simply fierce. I’m going to check up, and
argue with them about it as we pass. Then there’s
another thing — they figure to only two places, and we’ve
got to have the third place almost solid if we expect
to get a smooth curve. A hundredth of a centimeter of
acceleration means a lot on a long trip when they’re hold-
ing us as close as they are doing now. We’ll ride this
trip on 981.286 centimeters — with our scheduled mass,
that means thirty six points of four seven kilofranks
plus equilibrium power. All set to go,” the computer
stated, as he changed, by fractions of arc, the course-
plotters of the automatic integrating goniometer.
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
297
“You're the doctor — but I’m glad it’s you that’ll have
to explain to the observatory,” and Breckenridge set his
exceedingly delicate excess power potentiometer exactly
upon the indicated figure. “Well, we’ve got a few
minutes left for a chin-chin before we lift her off.”
“What’s all this commotion about? Dish out the
low-down.”
“Well, it’s like this, Steve. We pilots are having one
sweet time — we’re being growled at on every trip. The
management squawks if we’re thirty seconds plus or
minus at the terminals, and the passenger department
squalls if we change acceleration five centimeters total
en route — claims it upsets the dainty customers and loses
business for the road. They’re tightening up on us all
the time. A couple of years ago, you remember, it didn't
make any difference what we did with the acceleration
as long as we checked in somewhere near zero time —
we used to spin ’em dizzy when we reversed at the half-
way station — but that kind of stuff doesn’t go any more.
We’ve got to hold the acceleration constant and close to
normal, got to hold our schedule on zero, plus or minus
ten seconds, and yet we’ve got to make any detours they
tell us to, such as this seven-million kilometer thing they
handed us just now. To make things worse, we’ve got
to take orders at every check-station, and yet we get the
blame for everything that happens as a consequence of
obeying those orders ! Of course, I know as well as you
do that it’s rotten technique to change acceleration at
every check-station ; but we’ve told ’em over and over
that we can’t do any better until they put a real computer
on every ship and tell the check-stations to report mete-
orites and other obstructions to us and then to let us
alone. So you’d better recommend us some computers!”
“You’re getting rotten computation, that’s a sure thing,
and I don’t blame you pilots for yelling, but I don’t
believe that you’ve got the right answer. I can’t help but
think that the astronomers are lying down on the job.
They are so sure that you pilots are to blame that it
hasn’t occurred to them to check up on themselves very
carefully. However, we’ll know pretty quick, and then
we’ll take steps.’
“I hope so — but say, Steve, I’m worried about using
that much plus equilibrium power. Remember, we’ve got
to hit Ml 4 in absolutely good shape, or plenty heads will
drop.”
“I’ll say they will. I know just how the passengers will
howl if we hold them weightless for half an hour, wait-
ing for those two moons to get out of the way, and I
know just what the manager will do if we check in minus
thirty-one minutes. Wow ! He’ll swell up and bust, sure.
But don’t worry, Breck— if we don’t check in all right,
anybody can have my head that wants it, and I’m taking
full responsibility, you know.”
“You're welcome to it.” Breckenridge shrugged and
turned the conversation into a lighter vein. “Speaking
of weightlessness, it’s funny how many weight-fiends
there are in the world, isn’t it? You’d think the passen-
gers would enjoy a little weightlessness occasionally —
especially the fat ones — but they don’t. But say, while
I think of it, how come you were here and loose to make
this check-up? I thought you were out with the other
two of the Big Three, solving all the mysteries of the
Universe ?”
“Had to stay in this last trip — been doing some work
on the ether, force-field theory, and other advanced stuff
that T had to go to Mars and Venus to get. Just got back
last week. As for solving mysteries, laugh while you
can, old hyena. You and a lot of other dim bulbs think
that Roeser’s Rays are the last word — that there’s
nothing left to discover— are going to get jarred loose
from your hinges one of these days. When I came in
nine months ago they were hot on the trail of something
big, and I’ll bet they bring it in. . .
Out upon the dock an insistent siren blared a cres-
cendo and diminuendo blast of sound, and two minutes
remained. In every stateroom and in every lounge and
saloon speakers sounded a warning :
“For a short time, while we are pulling clear of the
gravitational field of the Earth, walking will be some-
what difficult, as everything on board will apparently in-
crease in weight by about one-fifth of its present amount.
Please remain seated, or move about with caution. In
about an hour weight will gradually return to normal.
We start in one minute.”
“Hipe !” barked the chief pilot as a flaring purple light
sprang into being upon his board, and the assistants came
to attention at their stations. “Seconds! Four! Three!
Two! One! LIFT!” He touched a button and a set
of plunger switches drove home, releasing into the forty-
five enormous driving projectors the equilibrium power
— the fifteen-tnousand-and-odd kilofranks of energy
that exactly counterbalanced the pull of gravity upon the
mass of the cruiser. Simultaneously there was added
from the potentiometer, already set to the exact figure
given by the computer, the />h(.y-equilibrium power —
which would not be changed throughout the journey if
the ideal acceleration curve were to be registered upon
the recorders — and the immense mass of the cruiser of
the void wafted vertically upward at a low and constant
velocity. The bellowing, shrieking siren had cleared the
air magically of the swarm of aircraft in her path, and
quietly, calmly, majestically, the Arcturus floated upward.
B RECKENRIDGE, sixty seconds after the initial lift,
actuated the system of magnetic relays which would
gradually cut in the precisely measured “starting power,”
which it would be necessary to employ for sixty-nine
minutes — -for, without the acceleration given by this ad-
ditional power, they would lose many precious hours of
time in covering merely the few thousands of miles dur-
ing which Earth’s attraction would operate powerfully
against their progress.
Faster and faster the great cruiser shot upward as
more and more of the starting power was released, and
heavier and heavier the passengers felt themselves be-
come. Soon the full calculated power was on and the
acceleration became constant. Weight no longer in-
creased, but remained constant at a value of plus twenty
three and six-tenths percent. For a few moments there
had been uneasy stomachs among the passengers — per-
haps a few of the first-trippers had been made ill — but
it was not much worse than riding in a high-speed ele-
vator, particularly since there was no change from posi-
tive to negative acceleration such as is experienced in
express elevators.
The computer, his calculations complete, watched the
pilot with interest, for, accustomed as he was to traversing
the depths of space, there was a never-failing thrill to
his scientific mind in the delicacy and precision of the
work which Breckenridge was doing — work which could
be done only by a man who had had long training in the
profession and who was possessed of instantaneous ner-
298
AMAZING STORIES
vous reaction and of the hightest degree of manual dex-
terity and control. Under his right and left hands were
the double-series potentiometers actuating the variable-
speed drives of the flight-angle directors in the hour and
declination ranges ; before his eyes was the finely marked
micrometer screen upon which the guiding goniometer
threw its needle-point of light ; powerful optical systems
of prisms and lenses revealed to his sight the director-
angles, down to fractional seconds of arc. It was the
task of the chief pilot to hold the screened image of the
cross-hairs of the two directors in such position relative
to the ever-moving point of light as to hold the mighty
vessel precisely upon its course, in spite of the complex
system of forces acting upon it.
For almost an hour Breckenridge sat motionless, his
eyes flashing from micrometer screen to signal panel,
his sensitive fingers moving the potentiometers through
minute arcs because of what he saw upon the screen and
in instantaneous response to the flashing, multicolored
lights and tinkling signals of his board. Finally, far from
earth, the moon’s attraction and other perturbing forces
comparatively slight, the signals no longer sounded and
the point of light ceased its irregular motion, becoming
almost stationary. The chief pilot brought both cross-
hairs directly upon the brilliant point, which for some
time they had been approaching more and more nearly,
adjusted the photo-cells and amplifiers which would hold
them immovably upon it, and at the calculated second
of time, cut out the starting power by means of another
set of automatically timed relays. When only the regu-
lar driving power was left, and the acceleration had been
checked and found to be exactly the designated value of
981.286 centimeters, he stood up and heaved a profound
sigh of relief.
“Well, Steve, that’s over with — we’re on our way. I’m
always glad when this part of it is done.”
“It’s a ticklish job, no fooling — even for an expert,”
the mathematician agreed. “No wonder the astronomers
think you birds are the ones who are gumming up their
dope. Well, it’s about time to plug in on E2. Here’s
where the fireworks start!” He closed the connections
which transferred the central portion of the upper look-
out screen to a small micrometer screen at Breckenridge’s
desk and plugged it into the first check-station. Instantly
a point of red light, surrounded by a vivid orange circle,
appeared upon the screen, low down and to the left of
center, and the timing galvanometer showed a wide posi-
tive deflection.
“Hashed again !” growled Breckenridge. “I must be
losing my grip, I guess. I put everything I had on that
sight, and missed it ten divisions. I think I’ll turn in my
badge — I’ve cocked our perfect curve already, before we
got to the first check-station !” His hands moved toward
the controls, to correct their course and acceleration.
“As you were — hold everything! Lay off those con-
trols !” snapped the computer. “There’s something
screwy, just as I thought — and it isn’t you, either. I’m
no pilot, of course, but I do know good compensation
when I see it, and if you weren’t compensating that point
I never saw it done. Besides, with your skill and my
figures I know darn well that we aren’t off more than
a tenth of one division. He’s cuckoo ! Don’t call him —
let him start it, and refer him to me.”
“All x — I’ll be only too glad to pass the buck. But
I still think, Steve, that you’re playing with dynamite.
Who ever heard of an astronomer being wrong?”
“You’d be surprised,” grinned the physicist, ‘Since this
fuss has just started, nobody has tried to find out whether
they were wrong Or not. . .
“IPV Arcturus, attention !” came from the speaker
curtly.
“IPV Arcturus, Breckenridge,” from the chief pilot.
“You have been on my ray almost a minute. Why are
you not correcting course and acceleration?”
“Doctor Stevens is computing us and has full control
of course and acceleration,” replied Breckenridge. “He
will answer you.”
“I am changing neither course nor acceleration be-
cause you are not in position,” declared Stevens, crisply.
“Please give me your present supposed location, and your
latest precision goniometer bearings on the sun, the moon,
Mars, Venus, and your tellurian reference limb, with
exact time of observations, gyroscope zero-planes, and
goniometer factors !”
“Correct at once or I shall report you to the Observa-
tory,” E2 answered loftily, paying no attention to the
demand for proof of position.
“Be sure you do that, guy — and while you’re at it re-
port that your station hasn’t taken a precision bearing
in a month. Report that you’ve been muddling along on
radio loop bearings, and that you don’t know where you
are, within seven thousand kilometers. And speaking of
reporting — I know already that a lot of you astronomical
guessers have only the faintest possible idea of where
you really are, plus, minus, or lateral ; and if you don’t
get yourselves straightened out before we get to W41,
I’m going to make a report on my own account that will
jar some of you birds loose from your upper teeth !” He
unplugged with a vicious jerk, and turned to the pilot
with a grin.
“Guess that’ll hold him for a while, won’t it?”
“He’ll report us, sure,” remonstrated Breckenridge.
The older man was plainly ill at ease at this open defiance
of the supposedly infallible check-stations.
“Not that baby,” returned the computer confidently.
“I’ll bet you a small farm against a plugged nickel that
right now he’s working his goniometer so hard that its
pivots are getting hot. He’ll sneak back into position as
soon as he can calculate his results, and pretend he’s al-
ways been there.”
“The others will be all right, then, probably, by the
time we get to them?”
“Gosh, no — you’re unusually dumb today, Breck. He
won’t tell anybody anything — he doesn’t want to be the
only goat, does he?”
“Oh, I see. How could you dope this out, with only
the recorder charts?”
“Because I know the kind of stuff you pilots are — and
those humps are altogether too big to be accounted for
by anything I know about you. Another thing — the next
station, P6, I think is keeping himself all x. If so, when
you corrected for E2, which was wrong, it’d throw you
all off on P6, which was right, and so on — a bad hump
at almost every check-station. See?”
T RUE to prediction, the pilot ray of P6 came in al-
most upon the exact center of the micrometer screen,
and Breckenridge smiled in relief as he began really to
enjoy the trip.
“How do we check on chronometers ?” asked P6 when
Stevens had been introduced. “By my time you seem
to be about two and a half seconds plus?”
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
299
“All x — two points four seconds plus — we’re riding on
981,286 centimeters, to allow for the reversal and for
minor detours. Bye.”
“All this may have been coincidence, Breck, but we’ll
find out pretty quick now,” the computer remarked when
the flying vessel was nearing the third check-station.
“Unless I’m all out of control we’ll check in almost four-
teen seconds minus on W41, and we may not even find
him on the center block of the screen.”
When he plugged in W41 was on the block, but was
in the extreme upper right corner. They checked in
thirteen and eight-tenths seconds minus on the station,
and a fiery dialogue ensued when the computer questioned
the accuracy of the location of the station and refused
point-blank to correct his course.
“Well, Breck, old onion, that tears it,” Stevens de-
clared as he unplugged. “No use going any further on
these bum reference points. I’m going to report to New-
ton — he’ll rock the Observatory on its foundations !” He
plugged into the telegraph room. “Have you got a free
high-power wave? . . . Please put me on Newton, in
the main office.”
Moving lights flashed and flickered for an instant upon
the communicator screen, settling down into a white glow
which soon resolved itself into the likeness of a keen-eyed,
gray-haired man, seated at his desk in the remote office
of the Interplanetary Corporation. Newton smiled as
he recognized the likeness of Stevens upon his own
screen, and greeted him cordially.
“Have you started your investigation, Doctor
Stevens ?”
“Started it? I’ve finished it!” and Stevens tersely re-
ported what he had learned, concluding: “So you see,
you don’t need special computers on these ships any more
than a hen needs teeth. You’ve got all the computers
you need, in the observatories — all you’ve got to do is
make them work at their trade.”
“The piloting was all x, then?”
“Absolutely — our curve so far is exactly flat ever since
we cut off the starting power. Of course, all the pilots
can’t be as good as Breckenridge, but give them good
computation and good check points and you shouldn’t
get any humps higher than about half a centimeter.”
“They’ll get both, from now on,” the director assured
him. “Thanks. If your work for the trip is done, you
might show my little girl, Nadia, around the Arc turns.
She’s never been out before, and will be interested.
Would you mind?”
“Glad to, Mr. Newton — I’ll be a regular uncle to her.”
“Thanks again, Operator, I’ll speak to Captain King,
please.”
“Pipe down that guff, you unlicked cub, or I’ll crown
you with a proof-bar 1” the chief pilot growled, as soon
as Stevens had unplugged.
“You and who else?” retorted the computer, cheerfully.
“Pipe down yourself, guy — if you weren’t so darn dumb
and didn’t have such a complex, you’d know that you’re
the crack pilot of the outfit and wouldn’t care who else
knew it.” Stevens carefully covered and put away the
calculating machine and other apparatus he had been us-
ing and turned again to the pilot.
“I didn’t know Newton had any kids, especially little
ones, or I’d have got acquainted with them long ago. Of
course I don’t know him very well, since I never was
around the office much, but the old tiger goes over big
with me.”
“Hm — m. Think you’ll enjoy playing nursemaid
all the rest of the trip ?” Breckenridge asked caustically,
but with an enigmatic smile.
“Think so? I know so!” replied Stevens, positively.
“I always did like kids, and they always did like me — we
fall for each other like ten thousand bricks falling down
a well. Why, a kid — any kid — and I team up just like
grace and poise. . . . What’s gnawing on you anyway,
to make you turn Cheshire cat all of a sudden? By the
looks of that grin I’d say you had swallowed a canary
of mine some way or other; but darned if I know that
I’ve lost any,” and he stared at his friend suspiciously.
“To borrow your own phrase, Steve, ‘You’d be sur-
prised,’ ” and Breckenridge, though making no effort
to conceal his amusement, would say no more.
In a few minutes the door opened, and through it
there stepped a grizzled four-striper. Almost hidden be-
hind his massive form there was a girl, who ran up to
Breckenridge and seized both his hands, her eyes spark-
ling.
“Hi, Breckie, you old darling ! I knew that if we both
kept after him long enough Dad would let me ride with
you sometime. Isn’t this gorgeous?”
Stevens was glad indeed that the girl’s enthusiastic
greeting of the pilot was giving him time to recover from
his shock, for Director Newton’s “little girl, Nadia” was
not precisely what he had led himself to expect. Little
she might be, particularly when compared with the giant
frame of Captain King, or with Steve’s own five-feet-
eleven of stature and the hundred and ninety pounds of
rawhide and whalebone that was his body, but child
she certainly was not. Her thick, fair hair, cut in the
square bob that was the mode of the moment, indicated
that Nature had intended her to be a creamy blonde,
but as she turned to be introduced to him, Stevens re-
ceived another surprise — for she was one of those rare,
but exceedingly attractive beings, a natural blonde with
brown eyes and black eyebrows. Sun and wind had
tanned her satin skin to a smooth and even shade of
brown, and every movement of her lithe and supple
body bespoke to the discerning mind a rigidly-trained
physique.
“Doctor Stevens, you haven’t met Miss Newton, I
hear,” the captain introduced them informally. “All the
officers who are not actually tied down at their posts are
anxious to do the honors of the vessel, but as I have
received direct orders from the owners, I am turning
her over to you — you are to show her around.”
“Thanks, Captain, I won’t mutiny a bit against such
an order. I’m mighty glad to know you, Miss Newton.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Doctor. Dad and Breckie
here are always talking about the Big Three — what you
have done and what you are going to do. I want to
meet Doctor Brandon and Doctor Westfall, too,” and her
hand met his in a firm and friendly clasp. She turned
to the captain, and Stevens, noticing that the pilot, with a
quizzical expression, was about to say something, silenced
him with a fierce aside.
“Clam it, ape, or I’ll climb up you like a squirrel !” he
hissed, and the grinning Breckenridge nodded assent to
this demand for silence concerning children and nurse-
maids.
“Since you’ve never been out, Miss Newton, you’ll
want to see the whole works,” Stevens addressed the girl.
“Where do you want to begin? Shall we start at the
top and work down?”
300
AMAZING STORIES
“All right with me,” she agreed, and fell into step
beside him. She was dressed in dove-gray from head to
foot — toque, blouse, breeches, heavy stockings, and shoes
were of the one shade of smooth, lustrous silk; and as
they strolled together down the passage-way, the effort-
less ease and perfect poise of her carriage called aloud
to every hard-schooled fibre of his own highly-trained
being.
“We’re a lot alike, you and I — do you know it?” he
asked, abruptly and unconventionally.
“Yes, I’ve felt it, too,” she replied frankly, and studied
him without affectation. “It has just come to me what
it is. We’re both in fine condition and in hard training.
You’re an athlete of some kind, and I’m sure you’re a
star — I ought to recognize you, but I’m ashamed to say
I don’t. What do you do?”
“Swim.”
“Oh, of course — Stevens, the great Olympic high and
fancy diver! I would never have connected our own
Doctor Stevens, the eminent mathematical physicist, with
the King of the Springboard. Say, ever since I quit
being afraid of the water I’ve had a yen to do that two-
and-a-half twist of yours, but I never met anybody who
knew it well enough to teach it to me, and I’ve almost
broken my back forty times trying to learn it alone !”
“I’ve got you, now, too — American and British Wo-
mens’ golf champion. Shake !” and the two shook hands
vigorously, in mutual congratulation. “Tell you what —
I’ll give you some pointers on diving, and you can show
me how to make a golf ball behave. Next to Norman
Brandon, I’ve got the most vicious hook in captivity — and
Norm can’t help himself. He’s left-handed, you know,
and, being a southpaw, he’s naturally wild. He slices all
his woods and hooks all his irons. I’m consistent, any-
way — I hook everything, even my putts.”
“It’s a bargain ! What do you shoot?”
“Pretty dubby. Usually in the middle eighties — none
of us play much, being out in space most of the time,
you know — sometimes, when my hook is going particu-
larly well, I go up into the nineties.”
“We’ll lick that hook,” she promised, as they entered
an elevator and were borne upward, toward the prow
of the great interplanetary cruiser.
CHAPTER II
But Does Not Arrive
“ ALL out— we climb the rest of the way on foot,”
f-\ Stevens told his companion, as the elevator
-T -®- stopped at the uppermost passenger floor.
The}' walked across the small circular hall and the guard
on duty came to attention and saluted as they approached
him.
“I have orders to pass you and Miss Newton, sir. Do
you know all the combinations?”
“I know this good old tub better than the men that
built her — I helped calculate her,” Stevens replied, as he
stepped up to an apparently blank wall of steel and
deftly manipulated an almost invisible dial set flush with
its surface. “This is to keep the passengers where they
belong,” he explained, as a section of the wall swung
backward in a short arc and slid smoothly aside. “We
will now proceed to see what makes it tick.”
Ladder after ladder of steel they climbed, and bulk-
head after bulkhead opened at Stevens’s knowing touch.
At each floor the mathematician explained to the girl
the operation of the machinery there automatically at
work — devices for heating and cooling, devices for cir-
culating, maintaining, and purifying the air and the
water— in short, all the complex mechanism necessary
for the comfort and convenience of the human cargo of
the liner.
Soon they entered the conical top compartment, a
room scarcely fifteen feet in diameter, tapering sharply
upward to a hollow point some twenty feet above them.
The true shape of the room, however, was not immedi-
ately apparent, because of the enormous latticed beams
and girders which braced the walls in every direction.
The air glowed with the violet light of the twelve great
ultra-light projectors, like searchlights with three-foot
lenses, which lined the wall. The floor beneath their
feet was not a level steel platform, but seemed to be
composed of many lenticular sections of dull blue
alloy.
“We are standing upon the upper lookout lenses, aren’t
we?” asked the girl. “Is that perfectly all right?”
“Sure. They’re so hard that nothing can scratch
them, and of course Roeser’s Rays go right through our
bodies, or any ordinary substance, like a bullet through
a hole in a Swiss cheese. Even those lenses wouldn’t
deflect them if they weren’t solid fields of force.”
As he spoke, one of the ultra-lights flashed around in
a short, quick arc, and the girl saw that instead of the
fierce glare she had expected, it emitted only a soft
violet light. Nevertheless she dodged involuntarily and
Stevens touched her arm reassuringly.
“All x. Miss Newton — they’re as harmless as mice.
They hardly ever have to swing past the vertical, and
even if one shines right through you you can look it
right in the eye as long as you want to — it can’t hurt
you a bit.”
“No ultra-violet at all?”
“None whatever. Just a color — one of the many re-
maining crudities of our ultra-light vision. A lot of
good men are studying this thing of direct vision, though,
and it won’t be long before we have a system that will
really work.”
“I think it’s all perfectly wonderful !” she breathed.
“Just think of traveling in comfort through empty space,
and of actually seeing through seamless steel walls, with-
out even a sign of a window! How can such things be
possible ?”
“I’ll have to go pretty well back,” he warned, “and
any adequate explanation is bound to be fairly deep
wading in spots. How technical can you stand it?”
“I can go down with you middling deep — I took a lot
of general science, and physics through advanced me-
chanics. Of course, I didn’t get into any such highly
specialized stuff as sub-electronics or Roeser’s Rays, but
if you start drowning me, I’ll yell.”
“That’s fine — you can get the idea all x, with that
to go on. Let’s sit down here on this girder. Roeser
didn’t do it all, by any means, even though he got credit
for it — he merely helped the Martians do it. The whole
thing started, of course, when Goddard shot his first
rocket to the moon, and was intensified when Roeser so
perfected his short waves that signals were exchanged
with Mars — signals that neither side could make any
sense out of. Goddard’s pupils and followers made
bigger and better rockets, and finally got one that could
land safely upon Mars. Roeser, who was a mighty keen
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
301
bird, was one of the first voyagers, and he didn’t come
back — he stayed there, living in a space-suit for three
or four years, and got a brand-new education. Martian
science always was hot, you know, but they were im-
practical. They were desperately hard up for water and
air, and while they had a lot of wonderful ideas and
theories, they couldn’t overcome the practical technical
difficulties in the way of making their ideas work. Now
putting other peoples’ ideas to work was Roeser’s long
suit — don’t think that I’m belittling Roeser at all, either,
for he was a brave and far-sighted man, was no mean
scientist, and was certainly one of the best organizers
and synchronizers the world has ever known — and since
Martian and tellurian science complemented each other,
so that one filled in the gaps of the other, it wasn’t long
until fleets of space-freighters were bringing in air and
water from Venus, which had more of both than she
needed or wanted.
“Having done all he could for the Martians and hav-
ing learned most of the stuff he wanted to know, Roeser
came back to Tellus and organized Interplanetary, with
scientists and engineers on all three planets, and set to
work to improve the whole system, for the vessels they
used then were dangerous — regular mankillers, in fact.
At about this same time Roeser and the Interplanetary
Corporation had a big part in the unification of the
world into one nation, so that wars could no longer in-
terfere with progress.
“ITT - ITH this introduction I can get down to funda-
| W mentals. Molecules are particles of the first
order, and vibrations of the first order include sound,
light, heat, electricity, radio, and so on. Second order,
atoms — extremely short vibrations, such as hard X-rays.
Third order, electrons and protons, with their accom-
panying Millikan, or cosmic, rays. Fourth order, sub-
electrons and sub-protons. These, in the material as-
pect, are supposed to be the particles of the fourth order,
and in the energy aspect they are known as Roeser’s
rays. That is, these fourth-order rays and particles
seem to partake of the nature of both energy and mat-
ter. Following me?”
“Right behind you,” she assured him. She had been
listening intently, her wide-spaced brown eyes fastened
upon his face.
“Since these Roeser’s rays, or particles or rays of
the fourth order, seem to be both matter and energy,
and since the rays can be converted into what is sup-
posed to be the particles, they have been thought to be
the things from which both electrons and protons were
built. Therefore, everybody except Norman Brandon
has supposed them the ultimate units of creation, so
that it would be useless to try to go any further. ...”
“Why, we were taught that they are the ultimate
units !” she protested.
“I know you were — but we really don’t know any-
thing, except what we have learned empirically, even
about our driving forces. What is called the fourth-
order particle is absolutely unknown, since nobody has
been able to detect it, to say nothing of determining its
velocity or other properties. It has been assumed to
have the velocity of light only because that hypothesis
does not conflict with observational data. I’m going to
give you the generally accepted idea, since we have
nothing definite to offer in its place, but I warn you that
that idea is very probably wrong. There’s a lot of deep
stuff down there hasn’t been dug up yet. In fact,
Brandon thinks that the product of conversion isn’t
what we think it is, at all — that the actual fundamental
unit and the primary mechanism of the transformation
lie somewhere below the fourth order, and possibly even
below the level of the ether — but we haven’t been able
to find a point of attack yet that will let us get in any-
where. However, I’m getting ’way ahead of our sub-
ject. To get back to it, energy can be converted into
something that acts like matter through Roeser’s rays,
and that is the empirical fact underlying the drive of
our space-ships, as well as that of almost all other
vehicles on all three planets. Power is generated by the
great waterfalls of Tellus and Venus — water’s mighty
scarce on Mars, of course, so most of our plants there
use fuel — and is transmitted on light beams by means of
powerful fields of force to the receptors, wherever they
may be. The individual transmitting fields and re-
ceptors are really simply matched- frequency units, each
matching the electrical characteristics of some particular
and unique beam' of force. This beam is composed of
Roeser’s rays, in their energy aspect. It took a long
time to work out this tight-beam transmission of power,
but it was fairly simple after they got it.”
He took out a voluminous notebook, at the sight of
which Nadia smiled.
“A computer might forget to dress, but you’d never
catch one without a full magazine pencil and a lot of
blank paper,” he grinned in reply and went on, writing
as he talked.
“For any given frequency, f, and phase angle, theta,
you integrate, between limits zero and pi divided by two,
sine theta d. . .
“Hold it — I’m sinking!” Nadia exclaimed. “I don’t
integrate at all unless it is absolutely necessary. As
long as you stick to general science, I’m right on your
heels, but please lay off of integrations and all that —
most especially stay away from those terrible electrical
integrations. I always did think that they were the
most poisonous kind known. I want only a general idea
■ — that’s all that I can understand, anyway.”
“Sure, I forgot — guess I was getting in deeper than
is necessary, especially since this whole thing of beam
transmission is pretty crude yet and is bound to change
a lot before long. There is so much loss that when we
get more than a few hundred million kilometers away
from a power-plant we lose reception entirely. But to
get going again, the receptors receive the beam and from
them the power is sent to the accumulators, where it is
stored. These accumulators are an outgrowth of the
storage battery. The theory of the accumulator
is. ...”
“Lay off the theory, please !” the listener interrupted.
“I understand perfectly without it. Energy is stored in
the accumulators— you put it in and take it out. That’s
all that is necessary.”
“T’D like to give you some of the theory — but, after
all, it wouldn’t add much to your understanding of
the working of things, and it might mix you up, as
some of it is pretty deep stuff. Then, too, it would take
a lot of time, and the rest of your friends would squawk
if I kept you here indefinitely. From the accumulators,
then, the power is fed to the converters, each of which
is backed by a projector. The converters simply
change the aspect of the rays, from the energy aspect to
302
AMAZING STORIES
the material aspect. As soon as this is done, the highly-
charged particles — or whatever they are — thus formed
are repelled by the terrific stationary force maintained
in the projector backing the converter. Each particle
departs with a velocity supposed to be that of light, and
the recoil upon the projector drives the vessel, or car,
or whatever it is attached to. Still with me?”
“Struggling a little, but my nose is still above the
surface. These particles, being so infinitesimally small
that they cannot even be detected, go right through any
substance without any effect — they are not even harm-
ful.”
“Exactly. Now we are in position to go ahead with
the lights, detectors, and so on. The energy aspect of
the rays you can best understand as simply a vibration
in the ether — an extremely high frequency one. While
not rigidly scientific, that is close enough for you and
me. Nobody knows what the stuff really is, and it can-
not be explained or demonstrated by any model or con-
cept in three-dimensional space. Its physical-mathe-
matical interpretation, the only way in which it can be
grasped at all, requires sixteen co-ordinates in four di-
mensions, and I don’t suppose you’d care to go into
that.”
“I’ll say I wouldn’t!” she exclaimed, feelingly.
“Well, anyway, by the use of suitable fields of force
it can be used as a carrier wave. Most of this stuff of
the fields of force — how to carry the modulation up and
down through all the frequency changes necessary — was
figured out by the Martians ages ago. Used as a pure
carrier wave, with a sender and a receiver at each end, it
isn’t so bad — that’s why our communicator and radio
systems work as well as they do. They are pretty good,
really, but the ultra-light vision system is something .else
again. Sending the heterodyned wave through steel is
easy, but breaking it up, so as to view an object and re-
turn the impulses, was an awful job and one that Isn’t
half done yet. We see things, after a fashion and at
a distance of a few kilometers, by sending an almost
parallet wave from a twin-projector to disintegrate and
double back the viewing wave. That’s the way the
lookout plates and lenses work, all over the ship — from
the master-screens in the control room to the plates of
the staterooms and lifeboats and the viewing-areas of
the promenades. But the whole system is a rotten make-
shift, and ...”
“Just a minute!” exclaimed the girl. “I and every-
body else have been thinking that everything is abso-
lutely perfect ; and yet every single thing you have
talked about, you have ended up by describing as ‘un-
known,’ ‘rudimentary,’ ‘temporary,’ or a ‘makeshift.’
You speak as though the entire system were a poor thing
that will have to do until something better has been
found, and that nobody knows anything about anything !
How do you get that way?”
“By working with Brandon and Westfall. Those
birds have got real brains and they’re on the track of
something that will, in - all probability, be as far ahead
of Roeser’s rays as our present system is ahead of the
science of the seventeenth century.”
“Really?” she looked at him in astonishment. “Tell
me about it.”
“Can’t be done,” he refused. “I don’t know much
about it — even they didn’t know any too much about
some of it when I had to come in. And what little I
do know I can’t tell, because it isn’t mine.”
“But you’re working with them, aren’t you?”
“Yes, in the sense that a small boy helps his father
build a house. They’re the brains — I simply do some
figuring that they don’t want to waste time doing.”
Nadia, having no belief whatever in his modest dis-
claimer, but in secret greatly pleased by his attitude, re-
plied :
“Of course you couldn’t say anything about an un-
finished project — I shouldn’t have asked. Where do we
go from here?”
“Down the lining of the hull, outside the passengers’
quarters to the upper dirigible projectors,” and he led
the way down a series of steep steel stairways, through
bulkheads and partitions of steel. “One thing I forgot
to tell you about — the detectors. They’re worked on the
same principle as the lights, and are just about as effi-
cient. Instead of light, though, they send out cones of
electro-magnetic waves, which set up induced currents
in any conductor encountered beyond our own shell.
Since all dangerous meteorites have been shown to con-
tain conducting material, that is enough to locate them,
for radio finders automatically determine the direction,
distance, and magnitude of the disturbance, and swing
a light on it. That was what happened when that light
swung toward us, back there in the prow.”
“Are there any of those life-boats, that I’ve heard
discussed so much lately, near here?” asked the girl.
“Lots of ’em — here’s one right here,” and at the next
landing he opened a vacuum-insulated steel door,
snapped on a light, and waved his hand. “You can’t
see much of it from here, but it’s a complete space-ship
in itself, capable of maintaining a dozen or fifteen per-
sons during a two-weeks’ cruise in space.”
“Why isn’t it a good idea to retain them? Accidents
are still possible, are they not?”
“Of course, and there is no question of doing away
with them entirely. Modern ships, however, have only
enough of' them to take care of the largest number of
persons ever to be carried by the vessel.”
“Has the Arcturus more than she needs?”
“I’ll say she has. and more of everything else, except
room for pay-load.”
“I’ve heard them talking about junking her. I think
it’s a shame.”
“So do I, in a way — you see, I helped design her and
her sister-ship, the Sirius, which Brandon and Westfall
are using as a floating laboratory. But times change,
and the inefficient must go. She’s a good old tub, but
she was built when everybody was afraid of space, and
we had to put every safety factor into her that we could
think of. As a result, she is four times as heavy as she
should be, and that takes a lot of extra power. Her
skin is too thick. She has too many batteries of ac-
cumulators, too many life-boats, too many bulkheads and
air-breaks, too many and too much of everything. She
is so built that if she should break up out in space, no-
body would die if they lived through the shock — there
are so many bulkheads, air-breaks, and life-boats that no
matter how many pieces she broke up into, the sur-
vivors would find themselves in something able to navi-
gate. That excessive construction is no longer neces-
sary. Modern ships carry ten times the pay-load on
one-quarter of the power that this old battle-wagon uses.
Even though she’s only four years old, she’s a relic of
the days when we used to slam through on the ecliptic
route, right through all the meteoric stuff that is always
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
303
there — trusting to heavy armor to ward off anything too
small for the observers and detectors to locate. Now,
with the observatories and check-stations out in space,
fairly light armor is sufficient, as we route ourselves
well away from the ecliptic and so miss all the heavy
stuff. So, badly as I hate to see her go there, the old
tub is bound for the junk-yard.”
A FEW more flights of stairs brought them to the
upper band of dirigible projectors, which encircled
the hull outside the passengers’ quarters, some sixty feet
below the prow. They were heavy, search-light-like
affairs mounted upon massive universal bearings, free
to turn in any direction, and each having its converter
nestling inside its prodigious field of force. Stevens ex-
plained that these projectors were used in turning the
vessel and in dodging meteorites when necessary, and
they went on through another almost invisible door into
a hall and took an elevator down to the main corridor.
“Well, you’ve seen it, Miss Newton.” Stevens said
regretfully, as he led her toward the captain’s office.
“The lower half is full of heavy stuff — accumulators,
machinery, driving projectors, and such junk, so that
the center of gravity is below the center of action of
the driving projectors. That makes stable flight possible.
It’s all more or less like what we’ve just seen, and I
don’t suppose you want to miss the dance — anyway, a lot
of people want to dance with you.”
“Wouldn’t you just as soon show me through the lower
half as dance?”
“Rather, lots !”
“So would I. I can dance any time, and I want to
see everything. Let’s go !”
Down they went, past battery after battery of ac-
cumulators ; climbing over and around the ever-in-
creasing number of huge steel girders and bracers;
through mazes of heavily insulated wiring and conduits ;
past mass after mass of automatic machinery which
Stevens explained to his eager listener. They inspected
one of the great driving projectors, which, built rigidly
parallel to the axis of the ship and held immovably in
place by enormous trusses of steel, revealed neither to
the eye nor to the ear any sign of the terrific force it
was exerting. Still lower they went, until the girl had
been shown everything, even down to the bottom ultra-
lights and stern braces.
“Tired?” Stevens asked, as the inspection was com-
pleted.
“Not very. It’s been quite a climb, but I’ve had a
wonderful time.”
“So have I,” he declared, positively. “I know what
— we’ll crawl up into one of these stern lifeboats and
make us a cup of coffee before we clijnb back. With
me?”
“ ’Way ahead of you!” Nadia accepted the invitation
enthusiastically, and they made their way to the nearest
of the miniature space-cruisers. Here, although no
emergency had been encountered in all the four years of
the vessel’s life, they found everything in readiness, and
the two soon had prepared and eaten a hearty luncheon.
“Well, I can’t think of any more excuses for monopo-
lizing you, Miss Newfon, so I suppose I’ll have to take
you back. Believe me, I’ve enjoyed this more than you
can realize — I’ve. ...”
He broke off and listened, every nerve taut. “What
was that?” he exclaimed.
“What was what? I didn’t hear anything?”
“Something screwy somewhere ! I felt a vibration,
and anything that’d make this mountain of steel even
quiver must have given us one gosh-awful nudge.
There’s another !”
The girl, painfully tense, felt only a barely perceptible
tremor, but the computer, knowing far better than she
the inconceivable strength and mass of that enormous
structure of solidly braced hardened steel, sprang into
action. Leaping to the small dirigible look-out plate, he
turned on the power and swung it upward.
“/'■^'REAT suffering snakes!” he ejaculated, then stood
VJ mute, for the plate revealed a terrible sight. The
entire nose of the gigantic craft had been sheared off in
two immense slices as though clipped off by a gigantic
sword, and even as they stared, fascinated, at the sight,
the severed slices were drifting slowly away. Swinging
the view along the plane of cleavage, Stevens made out a
relatively tiny ball of metal, only fifty feet or so in di-
ameter, at a distance of perhaps a mile. From this ball
there shot a blinding plane of light, and the Arcturus fell
apart at the midsection, the lower half separating clean
from the upper portion, which held the passengers.
Leaving the upper half intact, the attacker began slicing
the lower, driving half into thin, disk-shaped sections.
As that incandescent plane of destruction made its first
flashing cut through the body of the Arcturus, accom-
panied by an additional pyrotechnic display of severed
and short-circuited high-tension leads, Stevens and Nadia
suddenly found themselves floating weightless in the air
of the room. Still gripping the controls of the look-out
plate, Stevens caught the white-faced girl with one
hand, drew her down beside him, and held her motionless
while his keen mind flashed over all the possibilities of
the situation and planned his course of action.
“They’re apparently slicing us pretty evenly, and by
the looks of things, one cut is coming right about here,”
he explained rapidly, as he found a flashlight and drew
his companion through the door and along a narrow
passage. Soon he opened another door and led her
into a tiny compartment so low that they could not stand
upright— a mere cubicle of steel. Carefully closing the
door, he fingered dials upon each of the walls of the
cell, then folded himself up into a comfortable position,
instructed Nadia to do the same, and snapped off the
light.
“Please leave it on,” the shaken girl asked. “It’s so
ghastly !”
“We’d better save it, Nadia,” he advised, pressing her
arm reassuringly. “It’s the only light we’ve got, and
we may need it worse later on — its life is limited, you
know.”
“Later on? Do you think we’ll need anything — later
on?”
“Sure! Of course they may get us, Nadia, but this
little tertiary air-break is a mighty small target for them
to hit. And if they miss us, as I think they will, there’s
a larger room opening off each wall of this one — at least
one of which will certainly be left intact. From any one
of those rooms we can reach a life-boat. Of course, it’s
a little too much to expect that any one of the life-boats
will be left whole, but they’re bulkheaded, too, you know,
so that we can be sure of finding something able to
navigate — providing we can make our get-away. Be-
lieve' me, ace, I’m sure glad we’re aboard the old
304
AMAZING STORIES
Arcturus right now, with all her safety-devices, instead
of on one of the modern liners. We’d be sunk right.”
“I felt sunk enough for a minute — I’m feeling better
now, though, since you are taking it so calmly.”
“Sure — why not? A man’s not dead until his heart
stops beating, you know— our turn’ll come next, when
they let up a little.”
“But suppose they change the width of their slices,
and hit this cubby, small as it is?”
“It’s be just too bad,” he shrugged. “In that case,
we’d never know what hit us, so it’s no good worrying
about it. But say, we might do something at that, if
they didn’t hit us square. I can move fairly fast, and
might be able to get a door open before the loss of pres-
sure seals it. We’ll light the flash . . . here, you hold
it, so that I can have both hands free. Put both arms
around me, just under the arms, and stick to me like a
porous plaster, because if I have to move at all, I’ll have
to jump like chain lightning. Shine the beam right over
there, so it’ll reflect and light up all the dials at once.
There . . . hold on tight! Here they come!”
As he spoke, a jarring shudder shook one side of their
hiding-place, then, a moment later, the phenomenon was
repeated, but with much less force, upon the other side.
Stevens sighed with relief, took the light, and extin-
guished it.
“Missed us clean !” he exulted. “Now, if they don’t
find us, we’re all set,”
“How can they possibly find us? I seem to be al-
ways worried about the wrong things, but I should
think that their finding us would be the least of our
troubles.”
“Don’t judge their vision system by ours — they’ve got
everything, apparently. However, their apparatus may
not be delicate enough to spot us in a space this small
when their projectors flash through it, as they probably
will. Then, too, there’s a couple of other big items in
our favor — nobody else is in the entire lower half, since
all this machinery down here is either automatic or else
controlled from up above, so they won’t be expecting to
see anybody when they get down this far ; and we aren’t
at all conspicuous. We’re both dressed in gray — your
clothes in particular are almost exactly the color of this
armor-plate — so altogether we stand a good chance of
being missed.”
“What shall we do now?”
“Nothing whatever — wish we could sleep for a couple
of hours, but of course there’s no hope of that. Stretch
out here, like that — you can’t rest folded up like an
accordion — and I’ll lie down diagonally across the room.
There’s just room for me that way. That’s one ad-
vantage of weightlessness— you can lie down standing
on your head, and go to sleep and like it. But I forgot
— you’ve never been weightless before, have you? Does
it make you sick?”
“Not so much, now, except that I feel awfully weird
inside. I was horribly dizzy and nauseated at first, but
it’s going away.”
“Hr HAT’S gooct — it makes lots of people pretty sick.
JL In fact, some folks get awfully sick and can’t
seem to get used to it at all. It’s the canals in the inner
ear that do most of it, you know. However, if you’re as
well as that already, you’ll be a regular spacehound in
half an hour. I’ve been weightless for weeks at a
stretch, out in the Sirius, and now I’ve got so I really like
it. Here, we’d better keep in touch.” He found her
hand and tucked it under his arm, “Stabilize our posi-
tions more, besides keeping us from getting too lonesome,
here in the dark,” he concluded, in a matter-of-fact
voice.
“Thanks for saying ‘us’ — but you would, wouldn’t
you?” and a wave of admiration went through her for
the real and chivalrous manhood of the man with whom
she had been forced by circumstances to cast her lot.
“How long must we stay here ?”
“As long as the air lasts, and I’d like to stay here
longer than that. We don’t want to move around any
more than we absolutely have to until their rays are off
of us, and we have no way of knowing how long that
will be. Also, we’d better keep still. I don’t know
what kind of an audio system they’ve got, but there’s
no use taking unnecessary chances.”
“All x — I’m an oyster’s little sister,” and for many
minutes the two remained motionless and silent. Now
and then Nadia twitched and started at some vague real
or imaginary sound — now and then her fingers tightened
upon his biceps — and he pressed her hand with his
great arm in reassurance and understanding: Once a
wall of their cell resounded under the impact of a fierce
blow and Stevens instantly" threw his arm around the
girl, twisting himself between her and the threatened
wall, ready for any emergency. But nothing more hap-
pened ; the door remained closed, the cell stayed bottle-
tight, and time wore slowly on. All too soon the unmis-
takeable symptoms of breathing an unfit atmosphere
made themselves apparent and Stevens, after testing each
of the doors, drew the girl into a larger room, where
they breathed deeply" of the fresh, cool air.
“How did you know that this room was whole?”
asked Nadia. “We might have stepped out into space,
mightn’t we?”
“No; if this room had lost its tightness, the door
wouldn’t have opened. They won’t open if there’s a
difference of one kilogram pressure on the two sides.
That’s how I knew that the room we were in at first
was cut in two — the door into that air-break wouldn't
move.”
“What conies next?”
“I don’t know exactly what to do — we’d better hold
a little council of war. They may have gone. ...”
Stevens broke off as the structure began to move, and
they settled down upon what had been one of the side-
walls. Greater and greater became the acceleration, un-
til their apparent weight was almost as much as it would
have been upon the Earth, at which point it became
constant. “. . . but they haven’t,” he continued the in-
terrupted sentence. “This seems to be a capture and
seizure, as well as an attack, so we’ll have to take the
risk of looking at them. Besides, it’s getting cold in
here. One or two of the adjoining cells have apparently
been ruptured and we’re radiating our heat out into
space, so we’ll have to get into a life-boat or freeze. I'll
go pick out the best one. Wonder if I'd better take you
with me, or hide y r ou and come back after you?"
“Don’t worry about that — I’m coming with you.”
Nadia declared, positively.
“Just as well, probably,” he assented, and they" set out.
A thorough exploration of all the tight connecting cells
revealed that not a lifeboat within their reach remained
intact, but that habitable and navigable portions of three
such craft were available. Selecting the most completely"
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
305
equipped of these, the}- took up their residence therein
by entering it and closing the massive insulating door.
Stevens disconnected all the lights save one, and so
shielded that one before turning it on that it merely
lightened the utter darkness into a semi-permeable
gloom. He then stepped up to the lookout plate, and
with his hand upon the control, pondered long the pos-
sible consequences of what he wished to do.
‘'What harm would it do to take just a little peek?”
“I don’t know — that’s the dickens of it. Maybe none,
and then again, maybe a lot. You see, we don’t know
who or what we are up against. The only thing we
know is that they’ve got us beat a hundred ways, and
we’ve got to act accordingly. We’ve got to chance it
sometime, though, if we can ever get away, so we might
as well do it now. I’ll put it on very short range first,
and see what we can see. By the small number of cells
we’ve got here I’m afraid they’ve split us up lengthwise,
too — so that instead of having a whole slice of the old
watermelon to live in, we’ve got only about a sixth of one
— shaped about like a piece of restaurant pie. One
thing I can do, though. I’ll turn on the communicator
receiver and put it on full coverage — maybe we can hear
something useful.”
Putting a little power upon the visiray plate, he moved
the point of projection a short distance from their hid-
ing-place. so that the plate showed a view of the wreck-
age. The upper half of the vessel was still intact, the
lower half a jumble of sharply-cut fragments. From
each of the larger pieces a brilliant ray of tangible force
stretched outward. Suddenly their receiver sounded be-
hind them, as the high-powered transmitter in the tele-
graph room tried to notify headquarters of their plight.
“Arcturus attacked and cut up being taken tow. . . .”
Rapidly as the message was uttered the transmitter
died with a rattle in the middle of a word, and Nadia
looked at Stevens with foreboding in her eyes.
“They’ve got something, that’s one thing sure, to be
able to neutralize our communicator beams that way,”
he admitted. “Not so good — we’ll have to play this
close to our vests, girl!”
“Are you just trying to cheer me up, or do you really
think we have a chance?” she demanded. “I want to
know just where we stand.”
“I’m coming clean with you, no kidding. If we can
get away, we’ll be all x, because I’ll bet a farm that by
this time Brandon’s got everything those birds have, and
maybe more. They beat us to it, that’s all. I’m kind of
afraid, though, that getting away isn’t going to be quite
as simple as shooting fish down a well.”
F AR ahead of them a port opened, a lifeboat shot out
at its full power, and again their receiver tried to
burst into sound, but it was a vain attempt. The sound
died before one complete word could be uttered, and
the lifeboat, its powder completely neutralized by the rays
of the tiny craft of the enemy, floated gently back to-
ward the mass of its parent and accompanied it in its
headlong flight. Several more lifeboats made the at-
tempt, as the courageous officers of the Arcturus, some
of whom had apparently succeeded in eluding the vigil-
ance of the captors, launched the little shells from vari-
ous ports ; but as each boat issued, its power was neutral-
ized and it found itself dragged helplessly along in the
grip of one of those mysterious, brilliant rays of force.
At least one hidden officer must have been watching the
fruitless efforts, for the next lifeboat to issue made no
attempt, either to talk or to flee, but from it there flamed
out into space a concentrated beam of destruction — the
terrible ray of annihilation, against which no known sub-
stance could endure for a moment ; the ray which had
definitely outlawed war. But even that frightful weapon
was useless — it spent its force harmlessly upon an im-
palable, invisible barrier, a hundred yards from its
source, and the bold lifeboat disappeared in one blinding
explosion of incandescence as the captor showed its real
power in retaliation. Stevens, jaw hard-set, leaped from
the screen, then brought himself up so quickly that he
skated across the smooth steel floor. Shutting off the
lookout plate, he led the half-fainting girl across the
room to a comfortable seat and sat down beside her —
raging, but thoughtful. Nadia soon recovered.
“Why are you acting so contrary to your nature — -is it
because of me?” she demanded. “A dozen times I’ve
seen you start to do something and then change your
mind. I will not be a load on you nor hinder you in
anything you want to do.”
“I told your father I’d look after you, and I’m going
to do it,” he replied, indirectly. “I would do it anyway,
of course — even if you are ten or twelve years older
than I thought you were.”
“Yes, Dad never has realized that I’m more than eight
years old. I see — you were going out there and be
slaughtered ?” He flushed, but made no reply. “In that
case I’m glad I’m here — that would have been silly. I
think we’d better hold that council of war you mentioned
a' while ago, don’t you?”
“I need a smoke — do you indulge?”
“No thanks. I tried it a few times at school, but never
liked it.”
He searched his pockets, bringing to light an unopened
package and a battered remnant which proved to contain
one dilapidated cigarette. He studied it thoughtfully. “I’ll
smoke this wreck,” he decided, “while it’s still smokable.
We’ll save the rest of them — I’m afraid it’ll be a long
time between smokes. Well, let’s confer !”
“This will have to be a one-sided conference. I don’t
imagine that any of my ideas will prove particularly help-
ful. You talk and I’ll listen.
“You can’t tell what ideas may be useful — chip in any
time you feel the urge. Here’s the dope, as I see it.
They’re highly intelligent creatures and are in all prob-
ability neither Martians nor Venerians. If any of them
had any such stuff as that, some of us would have known
about it and, besides, I don’t believe they would have used
it in just that way. Mercury is not habitable, at least for
organic beings; and we have never seen any sign of any
other kind of inhabitants who could work with metals
and rays. They’re probably from Jupiter, although pos-
sibly from further away. I say Jupiter, because I would
think, judging from the small size of the ship, that it
may still be in the experimental stage, so that they prob-
ably didn’t come from any further away than Jupiter.
Then, too, if they were very numerous, somebody would
have sighted one before. I’d give my left leg and four
fingers for one good look at the inside of that ship.”
“Why didn’t you take it, then ? You never even looked
toward it, after that one first glimpse.”
“I’ll say I didn’t — the reason being that they may have
automatic detectors, and as I have suggested before, our
system of vision is so crude that its use could be detected
with a clothesline or a basket full of scrap iron. But to
306
AMAZING STORIES
resume : Their aim is to capture, not destroy, since they
haven’t killed anybody except the one crew that attacked
them. Apparently they want to study us or something.
However, they don’t intend that any of us shall get away,
nor even send out a word of what has happened to us.
Therefore it looks as though our best bet is to hide now,
and try to sneak away on them after a while — direct
methods won’t work. Right?”
“You sound lucid. Is there any possibility of getting
back, though, if we got anywhere near Jupiter? It’s so
far away !”
“It’s a long stretch from Jupiter to any of the planets
where we have power-plants, all right — particularly now,
when Mars and Tellus are subtending an angle of some-
thing more than ninety degrees at the sun, and Venus is
between the two, while Jupiter is clear across the sun
from all three of them. Even when Jupiter is in mean
opposition to Mars, it is still some five hundred and
fifty million kilometers away, so you can form some idea
as to how far it is from our nearest planet now. No, if
we expect to get back under our own power, we’ve got
to break away pretty quick — these lifeboats have very
little accumulator capacity, and the receptors are useless
above about three hundred million kilometers. . . .”
“But it’ll take us a long time to go that far, won’t it?”
“Not very. Our own ships, using only the acceleration
of gravity, and both plus and minus at that, make the
better than four hundred million kilometers of the long
route to Mars in five days. These birds are using almost
that much acceleration, and I don’t see how they do it.
They must have a tractor ray. Brandon claimed that
such a thing was theoretically possible, but Westfall and
I couldn’t see it. We ragged him. about it a lot — and he
was right. I thought, of course, they’d drift with us,
but they are using power steadily. They’ve got some
system !”
“Suppose they could be using intra-atomic energy?
We were taught that it was impossible, but you’ve shat-
tered a lot of my knowledge today.”
“I wouldn’t want to say definitely that it is absolutely
impossible, but the deeper we go into that line, the more
unlikely intra-atomic energy power-plants become. No,
they’ve got a real power-transmission system — one that
can hold a tight beam together a lot farther than anything
we have been able to develop, that’s all. Well, we’ve
given them quite a lot of time to get over any suspicion
of us, let’s see if we can sneak away from them.”
B Y short and infrequent applications of power to the
dirigible projectors of the life-boat, Stevens slowly
shifted the position of the fragment which bore their
craft until it was well clear of the other components of
the mass of wreckage. He then exerted a very small
retarding force, so that their bit would lag behind the
procession, as though it had accidently been separated.
But the crew of the captor was alert, and no sooner
did a clear space show itself between them and the mass
thaq a ray picked them up and herded them back into
place. Stevens then nudged other pieces so that they
fell out, only to see them also rounded up. Hour after
hour he kept trying — doing nothing sufficiently energetic
to create any suspicion, but attempting everything he
could think of that offered any chance of escape from the
clutches of their captors. Immovable at the plate, his
hands upon the controls, he performed every insidious
maneuver his agile brain could devise, but he could not
succeed in separating their vehicle from its fellows.
Finally, after a last attempt, which was foiled as easily
as were its predecessors, he shut off his controls and
turned to his companion with a grin.
“I didn’t think I could get away with it — they’re keen,
that gang — but I had to keep at it as long as it would
have done us any good.”
“Wouldn’t it do us any good now?”
“Not a bit — we’re going so fast that we couldn’t stop
— we’re out of even radio range of our closest power-
plant. We’ll have to put off any more attempts until they
slow us down. They’re fairly close to at least one of the
moons of Jupiter, we’ll have our best chance — so good, in
fact, that I really think we can make it.”
“But what good would that do us, if we couldn’t get
hack?” Dire foreboding showed in her glorious eyes.
“Lots of things not tried yet, girl, and we’ll try them
all. First, we get away. Second, we try to get in touch
with Norman Brandon. . . .”
“How? No known radio will carry half that far.”
“N'o, but I think that a radio as yet unknown may be
able to — and there is a bare possibility that I’ll be able to
communicate.”
“Oh wonderful — that lifts a frightful load off my
mind,” she breathed.
“But just a minute — I said I’d come clean with you,
and I will. The odds are all against us, no matter what we
do. If that unknown radio won’t work — and it probably
won’t — there are several other things we can try, but
they’re all pretty slim chances. Even if we get away,
it'll probably be about the same thing as though you were
to be marooned on a desert island without any tools,
and with your rescue depending upon your ability to
build a high-powered radio station with which to call to a
mainland for help. However, df we don’t try to get away,
our only alternative is letting them know we’re here, and
joining our friends in captivity.”
“And then what ?”
“You know as much as I do. Imprisonment and re-
straint, certain ; death, possible ; return to Earth, almost
certainly impossible — life as guests, highly improbable.”
“I’m with you, Steve, all the way.”
“Well, it’s time to spring off — we’ve both been awake
better than fifty hours. Personally, I’m all in, and you’re
so near dead that you’re a physical wreck. We’ll get us
a bite of supper and turn in.”
An appetizing supper was prepared from the abundant
stores and each ate a heartier meal than either would have
believed possible. Stevens considered his unopened
package of cigarettes, then regretfully put it back into
his pocket still unopened and turned to Nadia.
“Well, little fellow, it’s time to shove off, and then
some. You might as well sleep here, and I'll go in there.
If anything scares you, yell. Good-night, old trapper!”
“Wait a minute, Steve.” Nadia flushed, and her brown
eyes and black eyebrows, in comparison with her golden-
blond hair, lent her face a quizzical, elfin expression that
far belied her feelings as she stared straight into his
eyes. “I’ve never even been away from the Earth before,
and with all this happening I’m simply scared to death.
I’ve been trying to hide it, but I couldn’t stand it alone,
and we’re going to be together too long and too close for
senseless conventions to affect us. There’s two bunks
over there — why don’t you sleep in one of them?”
He returned her steadfast gaze for a moment in
silence.
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
307
“All x with me, Nadia,” he answered, keeping out of
his voice all signs of the tenderness he felt for her, and
of his very real admiration for her straightforward con-
duct in a terrifying situation. “You trust me, then?”
“Trust you! Don’t be silly — I know you! I know
you, and I know Brandon and Westfall — I know what
you’ve done, and exactly the kind of men you are. T rust
you!
“Thanks, old golf-shootist,” and promises were made
and received in a clasp from which Nadia’s right hand,
strong as it was, emerged slightly damaged.
“By the way, what is your first name, fellow-travel-
ler?” she asked in lighter vein. “Nobody, not even Dad
or Breckie, ever seems to call you anything but ‘Steve’
when they talk about you.” She was amazed at the effect
of her innocent question, for Stevens flushed to his hair
and spluttered.
“It’s Percy l” He finally snorted. “Percival Van
Schravendyck Stevens. Wouldn’t that tear it?”
“Why, I think Percival’s a real nice name!”
“Silence!” he hissed in burlesque style. “Young wo-
man, I have revealed to you a secret known to but few
living creatures. On your life, keep it inviolate !”
“Oh, very well, if you insist. Good-night — Steve!”
and she gave him a radiant and honest smile; the first
smile he had seen since the moment of the attack.
CHAPTER III
Castaways Upon Ganymede
U PON awakening, the man’s first care was to in-
struct the girl in the operation of the projectors,
so that she could keep the heavily-armored edge
of their small section, which she had promptly christened
“The Forlorn Hope,” between them and the grinding,
clashing mass of wreckage, and thus, if it should become
necessary, protect the relatively frail inner portions of
their craft from damage.
“Keep an eye on things for a while. Nadia,” he in-
structed, as soon as she could handle the controls, “and
don’t use any more power than is absolutely necessary.
We’ll need it all, and besides, they can probably detect
anything we can use. There’s probably enough leakage
from the ruptured accumulator cells to mask quite a
little emission, but don’t use much. I’m going to see
what I can do about making this whole wedge navigable.”
“Why not just launch what’s left of this lifeboat? It’s
space-worthy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s too small. Two or three of the big di-
rigible projectors of the lower band are on the rim of
this piece-of-pie-shaped section we’re riding, I think. If
so, and if enough batteries of accumulators are left in-
tact to give them anywhere nearly full power, we can
get an acceleration that will make a lifeboat look sick.
Those main dirigibles, you know, are able to swing the
whole mass of the Arcturus, and what they’ll do to this
one chunk of it — we’ve got only a few thousand tons of
mass in this piece — will be something pretty. Also, hav-
ing the metal may save us months of time in mining it.”
He found the projectors, repaired or cut out the dam-
aged accumulator cells, and reconnected them through the
controls of the lifeboat. He moved into the “engine-
room” the airtanks, stores, and equipment from all the
other fragments which, by means of a space-suit, he
could reach without too much difficulty. From the bat-
tery rooms of those fragments — open shelves, after being
sliced open by the shearing ray — he helped himself to
banks of accumulator cells from the enormous driving
batteries of the ill-fated Arcturus, bolting them down
and connecting them solidly until almost every compart-
ment of their craft was one mass of stored-up energy.
Days fled like hours, so furiously busy were they in
preparing their peculiar vessel for a cruise of indefinite
duration. Stevens cut himself short on ’ sleep and
snatched his meals in passing; and Nadia, when not
busy at her own tasks of observing, housekeeping, and
doing what little piloting was required, was rapidly
learning to wield most effectively the spanner and pliers
of the mechanic and electrician.
“I’m afraid our time is getting short, Steve,” she an-
nounced, after making an observation. “It looks as
though we’re getting wherever it is we’re going.”
“Well, I’ve got only two more jobs to do, but they’re
the hardest of the lot. It is Jupiter, or can you tell yet?”
“Jupiter or one of its satellites, I think, from the point
where they reversed their power. Here’s the observa-
tion you told me to take.”
“Looks like Jupiter,” he agreed, after he had rapidly
checked her figures. “We’ll pass very close to one of
those two satellites — probably Ganymede — which is fine
for our scheme. All four of the major satellites have
water and atmosphere, but Ganymede, being largest, is
best for our purposes. We’ve got a couple of days yet
— just about time to finish up. Let’s get going — you
know what to do.”
“Steve, I’m afraid of it. It’s too dangerous — isn’t
there some other way?”
“None that I can see. The close watch they’re keep-
ing on every bit of this junk makes it our only chance
for a get-away. I’m pretty sure I can do it — but if
I should happen to get nipped, just use enough power
to let them know you’re here, and you won’t be any
worse off than if I hadn’t tried to pull off this stunt.”
He donned a space-suit, filled a looped belt with
tools, picked up a portable power-drill, and stepped into
the tiny air-lock. Nadia deftly guided their segment
against one of the larger fragments and held it there with
a gentle, steady pressure, while Stevens, a light cable
paying out behind him, clambered carefully over the
wreckage, brought his drill into play, and disappeared in-
side the huge wedge. In less than an hour he returned
without mishap and reported to the glowing girl.
“Just like shooting fish down a well ! Most of the ac-
cumulator cells were tight, and installing the relays
wasn’t a bad job at all. Believe me, girl, there’ll be
junk filling all the space between here and Saturn when
we touch them off !”
“Wonderful, Steve!” Nadia exclaimed. “It won’t be
so bad seeing you go into the others, now that you have
this one all rigged up.”
A ROUND and around the mass of wreckage they
crept, and in each of the larger sections Stevens
connected up the enormous fixed or dirigible projectors
to whatever accumulator cells were available through
sensitive relays, all of which he could close by means of
one radio impulse. The long and dangerous task done,
he stood at the lookout plate, studying the huge disk
which had been the upper portion of the lower half of
the Arcturus and frowning in thought. Nadia reached
over his shoulder and switched off the plate.
308
AMAZING STORIES
“Nix on that second job, big fellow !” she declared.
“They aren’t really necessary, and you’re altogether too
apt to be killed trying to get them. It’s too ghastly — I
won’t stand for your trying it, so that ends it.”
“We ought to have them, really,” he protested. “With
those special tools, cutting torches, and all the stuff,
we’d be sitting pretty. We’ll lose weeks of time by not
having them.”
“We’ll just have to lose it, then. You can’t get ’em,
any more than a baby can get the moon, so stop crying
about it,” she went over the familiar argument for the
twentieth time. “That stuff up there is all grinding to-
gether like cakes of ice in a floe ; the particular section
you want is in plain sight of whoever is on watch; and
those tools and things are altogether too heavy to handle.
You’re a husky brute, I know, but even you couldn’t be-
gin to handle them, even if you bad good going. I
couldn’t help you very much, even if you’d let me try;
and the fact that you so positively refuse to let me come
along shows how dangerous you know the attempt is
bound to be. You’d probably never even get up there
alive, to say nothing of getting back here. No, Steve,
that’s out like a light.”
“I sure wish they’d left us weightless for a while,
sometime, if only for an hour or two,” he mourned.
“But they didn’t !” she retorted, practically. “So we’re
just out of luck to that extent. Our time is about up,
too. It’s time you worked us back to the tail end of this
procession — or rather, the head end, since we’re travel-
ing ‘down’ now.”
Stevens took the controls and slowly worked along
the outer edge of the mass, down toward its extremity'.
Nadia put one hand upon his shoulder and he glanced
around.
“Thanks, Steve. We have a perfectly wonderful
chance as it is, and we’ve gone so far with our scheme
together that it would be a crying shame not to be able
to go through with it. I’d hate like sin to have to surren-
der to them now, and that’s all I could do if anything
should become of you. Besides. . . .” her voice died
away into silence.
“Sure, you’re right,” he hastily replied, dodging the
implication of that unfinished sentence. “I couldn’t
figure out anything that looked particularly feasible
anyway — that’s why I didn’t try it. We’ll pass it up.”
Soon they arrived at their objective and maintained
a position well in the van, but not sufficiently' far ahead
of the rest to call forth a restraining ray from their
captors. Already strongly affected by' the gravitational
pull of the mass of the satellite, many of the smaller por-
tions of the wreck, not directly held by the tractors, be-
gan to separate from the main mass. As each bit left its
place another beam leaped out, until it became apparent
that no more were available, and Stevens strapped the
girl and himself down before two lookout plates.
“Now for it, Nadia !” he exclaimed, and simultane-
ously threw on the power of his own projectors and sent
out the radio impulse which closed the relays he had so
carefully set. They were thrown against the restraining
straps savagely and held there by an enormous weight
as the gigantic dirigible projectors shot their fragment
of the wreck away from the comparatively slight force
which had been acting upon it, but they braced them-
selves and strained their muscles in order to watch what
was happening. As the relays in the various fragments
closed, the massed power of the accumulators was
shorted dead across the converters and projectors in-
stead of being fed into them gradually through the con-
trols of the pilot, with a result comparable to that of the
explosion of an ammunition dump. Most of the masses,
whose projectors were fed by comparatively few accu-
mulator cells, darted away entirely with a stupendous ac-
celeration. A few of them, however, received the un-
impeded flow of complete batteries. Those projectors
tore loose from even their massive supports and crashed
through anything opposing them like a huge, armor-
piercing projectile. It was a spectacle to stagger the
imagination, and Stevens grinned as he turned to the
girl, who was staring in wide-eyed amazement.
“Well, ace, I think they’re busy enough now so that
it’ll be safe to take that long-wanted look at their con-
trols,” and he flashed the twin beams of his look-
out light out beyond the upper half of the Arctu-
rus - — only to see them stop abruptly in mid-space. Even
the extremely short carrier-wave of Roeser’s rays could
not go through the invisible barrier thrown out by the
tiny, but powerful globe of space.
“No penetration?” Nadia asked.
“Flattened them out cold. ‘However,’ as the fox once
remarked about the grapes, ‘I’ll bet they're sour, any-
way.’ We’ll have some stuff of our own, one of these
days. I sure hope the fireworks we started back there
keep those bird amused until we get out of sight, be-
cause if I use much more power on these projectors we
may not have juice enough left to stop with.”
“You’re using enough now to suit me — I’m so heavy
I can hardly lift a finger !”
“You’d better lift ’em! You must watch what’s going
on back there while I navigate around this moon.”
“All x, chief. . . . They’ve got their hands full, ap-
parently. Those rays are shooting around all over the
sky. It looks as though they were trying to capture four
or five things at once with each one.”
“Good! Tell me when the moon cuts them off.”
A T the awful acceleration they were using, which con-
stantly increased the terrific velocity with which
they had been traveling when they made good their es-
cape, it was not long until they had placed the satellite
between them and the enemy ; then Stevens cut down and
reversed his power. Such was their speed, however,
that a long detour was necessary in order to reduce
it to a safe landing rate. As soon as this could be done,
Stevens headed for the morning zone and dropped the
“Hope” rapidly toward the surface of that new, strange
world. Details could not be distinguished at first be-
cause of an all-enshrouding layer of cloud, but the ris-
ing sun dispelled the mist, and when they had descended
to within a few thousand feet of the surface, their vision
was unobstructed. Immediately below them the terrain
was mountainous and heavily wooded ; while far to the
east the rays of a small, pale sun glinted upon a vast
body of water. No signs of habitation were visible
as far as the eye could reach.
“Now to pick out a location for our power-plant. We
must have a waterfall for power, a good place to hide our
ship from observation, and I’d like to have a little seam
of coal. We can use wood if we have to, but I think
we can find some coal. This is all sedimentary rock —
it looks a lot like the country along the North Fork of
the Flathead, in Montana. There are a lot of coal out-
crops, usually, in such topography as this is.”
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
309
“We want to hide in a hurry, though, don’t we?”
“Not particularly, I think. If they had missed us at
all, they would have had us long ago, and with all the
damage we did with those projectors they won’t be sur-
prised at one piece being missing — I imagine they lost
a good many.”
“But they’ll know that somebody caused all that dis-
turbance. Won’t they hunt for us?”
“Maybe, and maybe not — no telling what they’ll do.
However, by the time they can land and get checked
up and ready to hunt for us, we’ll be a mighty small
needle, well hidden in a good big haystack.”
For several hours they roamed over the mountainous
region at high velocity, seeking the best possible loca-
tion, and finally they found one that was almost ideal —
a narrow canyon overhung with heavy trees, opening into
a wide, deep gorge upon a level with its floor. A mighty
waterfall cascaded into the gorge just above the canyon,
and here and there could be seen black outcrops which
Stevens, after a close scrutiny, declared to be coal. He
deftly guided their cumbersome wedge of steel into the
retreat, allowed it to settle gently to the ground, and shut
off the power.
“Well, little fellow-conspirator against the peace and
dignity of the Jovians, I don’t know just where we are,
but wherever it is, we’re here. We got away clean, and
as long as we don’t use any high-tension stuff or any-
thing else that they can trace. I think we’re as safe as
money in a bank.”
“I suppose that I ought to be scared to death, Steve,
but I’m not — I’m just too thrilled for words,” Nadia
answered, and the eager sparkle in her eyes bore out her
words. “Can we go out now 7 ? How about air? Shall
we wear suits or go out as we are? Have you got a
weapon of any kind ? Hurry up — let’s do something !”
"Pipe down, ace! Remember that we don’t know any
more about anything around here than a pig does about
Sunday, and conduct yourself accordingly. Take it easy.
I’m surprised at the gravity here. This is certainly Gany-
mede, and it has a diameter of only about fifty seven
hundred kilometers. If I remember correctly,
Damoiseau estimated its mass at about three one-
hundredths that of the Earth, which would make its
surface gravity about one-sixth. However, it is actually
almost a half, as you see by this spring-balance here.
Therefore it is quite a little more massive than has
been. . .
“What of it? Let’s go places and do things!”
“Calm yourself, Ginger, you've got lots of time —
we’ll be here for quite a while, I’m afraid. We can’t go
out until we analyze the air — we’re sure lucky there’s
as much as .there is. I’m not exactly the world’s fore-
most chemist, but fortunately an air-analysis isn’t much
of a job with the apparatus w 7 e carry.”
While Nadia controlled her impatience as best she
could, Stevens manipulated the bulbs and pipettes of the
gas apparatus.
“Pressure, fifty-two centimeters — more than I dared
hope for — and analysis all x, I believe. Oxygen concen-
tration a little high, but not much.”
“We won’t have to u 7 ear the space-suits, then?”
“Not unless I missed something in the analysis. The
pressure corresponds to our own at a height of about
three thousand meters, which we can get used to without
too much trouble. Good thing, too. I brought along all
the air I could get hold of, but as I told you back there.
if we had to depend on it altogether, we might be out of
luck. I’m going to pump some of our air back into a
cylinder to equalize our pressure — don’t want to waste
any of it until we’re sure the outside air suits us with-
out treatment.”
W HEN the pressure inside had been gradually re-
duced to that outside and they had become ac-
customed to breathing the rarefied medium, Stevens
opened the airlock and the outside doors, and for some
time cautiously sniffed the atmosphere of the satellite.
He could detect nothing harmful or unusual in it — it was
apparently the same as earthly air — and he became jubi-
lant.
“All x, Nadia — luck is perched right on our banner.
Freedom, air, water, power, and coal ! Now as you
suggested, we’ll go places and do things !”
“Suppose it’s safe?” Her first eagerness to explore
their surroundings had abated noticeably. “You aren’t
armed, are you?”
“No, and I don’t believe that there was a gun of any
kind aboard the Arcturus. That kind of thing went out
quite a while ago, you know. We’ll take a look, anyway
—we’ve got to find out about that coal before we decide
to settle down here. Remember this half-gravity stuff,
and control your leg-muscles accordingly.”
Leaping lightly to the ground, they saw that the sev-
ered section of fifty-inch armor, which was the rim of
their conveyance, almost blocked the entrance to the nar-
row canyon which they had selected for their retreat.
Upon one side that wall of steel actually touched the al-
most perpendicular wall or rock ; upon the other side there
was left only a narrow passage. They stepped through
it, so that they could see the waterfall and the gorge,
and stopped silent. The sun, now fairly high, was in
no sense the familiar orb of day, but was a pale, insipid
thing, only one-fifth the diameter of the sun to which
they were accustomed, and which could almost be studied
with the unshielded eye. From their feet a grassy
meadow a few hundred feet wide sloped gently down
to the river, from whose farther bank a precipice sprang
upward for perhaps a thousand feet — merging into
towering hills whose rugged grandeur was reminiscent
of the topography of the moon. At their backs the wall
of the gorge was steep, but not precipitous, and was
covered with shrubs and trees — some of which leaned
out over the little canyon, completely screening it, and
among whose branches birds could now and then be seen
flitting about. In that direction no mountains were visi-
ble, indicating that upon their side of the river there was
an upland plateau or bench. To their right the river,
the gorge, and the strip of meadow extended for a
mile or more, then curved away and were lost to sight.
To their left, almost too close for comfort, was the stu-
pendous cataract, towering above them to a terror-in-
spiring height. Nadia studied it with awe, which
changed to puzzled wonder.
“What’s the matter with it, Steve? It looks like a
picture in slow motion, like the kind they take of your
dives — or am I seeing things?”
“No, it’s really slow, compared to what we’re used to.
Remember that one-half gravity stuff!”
“Oh, that’s right, but it certainly does look funny. It
gives me the creeps.”
“You’ll get used to it pretty quick — just as you’ll get
used to all the rest of the things having only half their
310
AMAZING STORIES
earthly weight and falling only half as fast as they ought
to when you drop them. Well, I don’t see anything that
looks dangerous yet — let’s go up toward the falls a few
meters and prospect that outcrop.”
With a few brisk strokes of an improvised shovel he
cleared the outcrop of detritus and broke off several
samples of the black substance, with which they went
back to the “Forlorn Hope.”
“It’s real coal,” Stevens announced after a series of
tests. “I’ve seen better, but on the other hand, there’s
lots worse. It’ll make good gas, and a kind of a coke,
Not so hot, but it’ll do. Now we’cl better get organized
old partner, for a long camgaign.” .
“Go ahead and organize — I’m only the cheap help in
this enterprise.”
“Cheap help! You’re apt to be the life of the party.
Can you make and shoot a bow and arrow ?”
“I’ll say I can — -I’ve belonged to an archery club for
five years.”
“What did I tell you? You’re a life saver! Here’s
the dope — we’ve got to save our own supplies as much as
possible until we know exactly what we’re up against,
and to do that, we’ve got to live off the country. I’ll fake
up something to knock over some of those birds and
small game, then we can make real bow-strings and
feathered arrows and I’ll forge some steel arrowheads
while you're making yourself a real bow. We’d better
make me about a hundred-pound war bow, too. . .
“A hundred!” interrupted Nadia. “That’s a lot of
bow, big boy — think you can bend it?”
“You’d be surprised,” he grinned. “I’m not quite
like Robin Hood — I’ve been known to miss a finger-
thick wand at a hundred paces — but I’m not exactly a
beginner.”
“Oh, of course — I should have known by your lan-
guage that you’re an archer, otherwise you’d never have
used such an old-fashioned word as ‘pounds.’ I shoot
a thirty-five-pound bow ordinarily, but for game I should
have the heaviest one I can hold accurately— about a
forty-five, probably.”
“All x. And as soon as I can I’ll make us a couple
of suits of fairly heavy steel armor, so that we’M have
real protection if we should need it. You see, we don’t
know what we are apt to run up against out here. Then,
with that much done, it’ll be up to you to provide, since
I’ll have to work tooth and nail at the forges. You’ll
have to bring home the bacon, do the cooking and so on,
and see what you can find along the line of edible roots,
grains, fruits, and what-not. Sort of reverse the Indian
idea — you be the hunter and I’ll keep the home fires
burning. Can do?”
“What it takes to do that, I’ve got,” Nadia assured
him, her eyes sparkling. “Have you your job planned
out as well and as fittingly as you have mine?”
“And then some. We’ve got just two methods of
getting away from here — one is to get in touch with
Brandon, so that he’ll come after us ; the other is to re-
charge our accumulators and try to make it under our
own power. Either course will need power, and lots of
it. . .
“I never thought of going back in the ‘Hope.’ Sup-
pose we could?”
“About as doubtful as the radio — I think that I could
build a pair of matched-frequency auto-dirigible trans-
mitter and receptor units, such as are necessary for
space-ships fed by stationary power-plants, but after I
got them built, they’d take us less than half way there.
Then we’d have only what power we can carry, and I
hate even to think of what probably would happen to us.
We’d certainly have to drift for months before we
could get close enough to any of our plants to radio for
help, and we’d be taking awful chances. You see, we’d
have to take a very peculiar orbit, and if we should miss
connections passing the inner planets, what the sun
would do to us at the closest point and where what’s
left of us would go on the back-swing, would be just too
bad! Beides, if we can get hold of the Sirius, they’ll
come loaded for bear, and we may be able to do some-
thing about the rest of the folks out here.”
O H !” breathed the girl. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful
if we could ! I thought, of course, they’d all
be. . . .” her voice died away.
“Not necessarily — there’s always a chance. That’s
why I’m trying the ultra-radio first. However, either
course will take lots of power/ so the first thing I’ve
got to do is to build a power plant. I’m going to run
a penstock up those falls, and put in a turbine, driving
a high-tension alternator. Then, while I’m trying to
build the ultra-radio, I'll be charging our accumulators,
so that no time will be lost in case the radio fails. If
it does fail- — and remember I’m not counting on its work-
ing— of course I’ll tackle the transmission and receptor
units before we start out to drift it.”
“You say it easy, Steve, but how can you build all
those things, with nothing to work with?”
“It’s going to be a real job — I'll not try to kid you
into thinking it’ll be either easy or quick. Here’s the
way everything will go. Before I can even lay the first
length of the penstock, I’ve got to have the pipe — to
make which I’ve got to have flat steel — to get which I’ll
have to cut some of the partitions out of this ship of ours
—to do which I’ll have to have a cutting torch — to make
which I’ll have to forge nozzles out of block metal and
to run which I’ll have to have gas — to get which I’ll
have to mine coal and build a gas-plant — to do
which. . . .”
“Good heavens, Steve, are you going back to the Stone
Age? I never thought of half those things. Why, it’s
impossible !”
“Not quite, guy. Things could be a lot worse— that’s
why I brought along the whole ‘Forlorn Hope,’ instead
of just the lifeboat. As it is, we’ve got several thousand
tons of spare steel and lots of copper. We’ve got ordi-
nary tools and a few light motors, blowers, and such
stuff. That gives me a great big start — I won’t have
to mine the ores and smelt the metals, as would have
been necessary otherwise. However, it’ll be plenty bad.
I'll have to start out in a pretty crude fashion, and for
some of the stuff I’ll need I’ll have to make, not only the
machine that makes the part I want, but also the machine
that makes the machine that makes the machine that
makes it — and so on, just how far down the line, I
haven’t dared to think.”
“You must be a regular jack-of-all-trades, to think
you can get away with such a program as that?”
“I am — nothing else but. You see, while most of my
school training was in advanced physics and mathe-
matics, I worked my way through by computing and de-
signing, and I’ve done a lot of truck-horse labor of
various kinds besides. I can calculate and design al-
most anything, and I can make a pretty good stab at
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
311
translating a design into fabricated material. I wouldn’t
wonder if Brandon’s ultra-radio would stop me, since
nobody had even started to build one when I saw him
last — but I helped compute it, know the forces involved
as well as he did at that time, and it so happens that I
know more about the design of coils and fields of force
than I do about anything else. So I may be able to work
it out eventually. It isn’t going to be not knowing how
that will hold me up — it’ll be the lack of something that
I can’t build.”
“And that’s where you will go back and back and back,
as you said about building the penstock?”
“Back and back is right, if I can find all the necessary
raw materials — that’s what’s probably going to put a
lot of monkey-wrenches into the machinery.” And
Stevens went to work upon a weapon of offense, fash-
ioning a crude, but powerful bow from a strip of spring
steel strung with heavy wire.
“How about arrows? Shall I go see if I can hit a
bird with a rock, for feathers, and see if I can find some-
thing to make arrows out of?”
“Not yet- — anyway, I’d bet on the birds! I’m going
to use pieces of this light brace-rod off the accumulator
cells for arrows. They won’t fly true, of course, but
with their mass I can give them enough projectile force
to kill any small animal they hit, no matter how they
hit it.”
After many misses, he finally bagged a small animal,
something like a rabbit and something like a kangaroo,
and a couple of round-bodied, plump birds, almost as
large as domestic hens. These they dressed, with con-
siderable distaste and a noticeable lack of skill.
“We’ll get used to it pretty quick, Diana — also more
expert,” he said when the task was done. “We now'
have raw material for bowstrings and clothes, as well
as food.”
“The word ‘raw’ being heavily accented,” Nadia de-
clared, with a grimace. “But how do we know that
they’re good to eat?”
“We’ll have to eat ’em and see,” he grinned. “I don’t
imagine that any flesh is really poisonous, and we’ll
have to arrive at the ones we like best by a process of
trial and error. Well, here’s your job— I’ll get busy
on mine. Don’t go more than a few hundred meters away
and yell if you get into a jam.”
“There’s a couple of questions I want to ask you.
What makes it so warm here, when the sun’s so far away
and Jupiter isn’t supposed to be radiating any heat?
And how about time? It’s twelve hours by my watch
since sunrise this morning, and it’s still shining.”
“As for heat, I’ve been wondering about that. It must
be due to internal heat, because even though Jupiter may
be warm, or even hot, it certainly isn’t radiating much,
since it has a temperature of minus two hundred at the
visible surface, which, of course, is the top of the atmos-
phere. Our heat here is probably caused by radioac-
tivity — that’s the most modern dope, I believe. As for
time, it looks as though our days were something better
than thirty hours long, instead of twenty-four. Of
course I’ll keep the chronometer going on I-P time,
since we’ll probably need it in working out observations ;
but we might as well let our w'atches run down and work,
eat, and sleep by the sun— not much sense in trying to
keep Tellurian time here, as I see it. Check?”
“All x. I’ll have supper ready for you at sunset.
’Bye!”
A few evenings later, when Stevens came in after his
long day’s work, he was surprised to see Nadia dressed
in a suit of brown coveralls and high-laced moccasins.
“How do I look?” she asked, pirouetting gayly.
“Neat, but not gaudy,” he approved. “That’s good
mole-skin — smooth, soft, and tough. Where’d you make
the raise? I didn’t know we had anything like that on
board. What did you do for thread? You look like a
million dollars — you sure did a good job of fitting.”
"I had to have something — what with all the thorns
and brush, there was almost more of me exposed than
covered, and I was getting scratched up something fierce.
So I ripped up one of the space-suits, and found out that
there’s enough cloth, fur, and leather in one of them to
make six ordinary suits, and thread by the kilometer. I
w'as awfully glad to see all that thread — I had an idea
that I’d have to unravel my stockings or something, but
I didn't. Your clothes are getting pretty tacky, too, and
you're getting all burned with those hot coals and things.
I'm going to build you a suit out of leather for your
blacksmithing activities.”
“Fine business, ace ! Then we can save what’s left
of our civilized clothes for the return trip. What do we
eat?”
“The eternal question of the hungry laboring man!
I’ve got a roasted bongo, a fried filamaloo bird, and a
boiled warple for the meat dishes. For vegetables,
mashed hikoderms and pimola greens. Neocorn bread.”
“Translate that, please, into terms of food.”
“Translate it yourself, after you eat it. I changed
the system on you today. I’ve named all the things,
so it'll be easier to keep track of those we like and the
ones we don’t.”
With appetites sharp-set by long hours of hard labor
they ate heartily ; then, in the deepening twilight, they
sat and talked in comradely fashion while Stevens
smoked one precious cigarette.
I T was not long until Nadia had her work well in hand.
Game was plentiful, and the fertile valley and the
neighboring upland yielded peculiar, but savory vege-
table foods in variety and abundance ; so that soon she
was able to spend some time with Stevens, helping him
as much as she could. Thus she came to realize the true
magnitude of the task he faced and the real seriousness
of their position.
As Stevens had admitted before the work was started,
he had known that he had set himself a gigantic task,
but he had not permitted himself to follow, step by step,
the difficulties that he knew awaited him. Now, as the
days stretched into weeks and on into months, he was
forced to take every laborious step, and it was borne in
upon him just how nearly impossible that Herculean
labor was to prove — just how dependent any given
earthly activity is upon a vast number of others. Here
he was alone — everything he needed must be manufac-
tured by his own hands, from its original sources. He
had known that progress would be slow and he had been
prepared for that ; but he had not pictured, even to him-
self, half of the maddening setbacks which occurred time
after time because of the crudity of the tools and equip-
ment he was forced to use. All too often a machine or
part, the product of many hours of grueling labor, would
fail because of the lack of some insignificant thing — some
item so common as to be taken for granted in all terres-
trial shops, but impossible of fabrication with the means
312
AMAZING STORIES
at his disposal. At such times he would set his grim jaw
a trifle harder, go back one step farther toward the Stone
Age, and begin all over again — to find the necessary raw
material or a possible substitute, and then to build the ap-
paratus and machinery necessary to produce the part he
required. Thus the heart-breaking task progressed, and
Nadia watched her co-laborer become leaner and harder
and more desperate day by day, unable in any way to
lighten his fearful load.
In the brief period of rest following a noonday meal,
Stevens lay prone upon the warm, fragrant grass be-
side the “Forlorn Hope,” but it was evident to Nadia
that he was not resting. His burned and blistered hands
were locked savagely behind his head, his eyes were
closed too tightly, and every tense line of his body was
eloquent of a strain even more mental than physical.
She studied him for minutes, her fine eyes clouded, then
sat down beside him and put her hand upon his shoul-
der.
“I want to talk to you a minute, Steve,” she said
gently.
“All x, little fellow — but it might be just as well if
you didn’t touch me. You see, I’m getting so rabid that
I can’t trust myself.”
“That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about.”
A fiery blush burned through her deep tan, but her low,
clear voice did not falter and her eyes held his unflinch-
ingly. “I know you better than you know yourself, as
I’ve said before. You are killing yourself, but it isn’t
the work, frightfully hard and disheartening as it is,
that is doing it — it’s your anxiety for me and the un-
certainty of everything. You haven’t been able to rest
because you have been raging and fuming so at un-
avoidable conditions — you have been fighting facts. And
it’s all so useless, Steve, between you and me — every-
thing would check out on zero if we’d just come out into
the open.”
The man’s gaunt frame seemed to stiffen even more
rigidily.
“You’ve said altogether too much or else only half
enough, Nadia. You know, of course, that I’ve loved
you ever since I got really to know you— and that didn’t
take long. You know that I love you and you know how
I love you — with the real love that a man can feel for
only one woman and only once in his life ; and you know
exactly what we’re up against. Now that does tear it —
wide open !” he finished bitterly.
“No, it doesn’t, at all,” she replied, steadily. “Of course
I know that you love me, and I glory in it ; and since
you don’t seem to realize that I love you in exactly the
same way, I’ll tell you so. Love you ! Good heavens,
Steve, I never dreamed that such a man as you are really
existed ! But you’re fighting too many things at once,
and they’re killing you. And they’re mostly imaginary,
at that. Can’t you see that there’s no need of uncertainty
between you and me? That there is no need of you
driving yourself to desperation on my account? What-
ever must be is all x with me, Steve. If you can build
everything you need, all well and good. We’ll be en-
gaged until then, and our love will be open and sweet.
If worst comes to worst, so that we can neither com-
municate with Brandon and Westfall nor leave here
under our own power — even that is nothing to kill our-
selves about. And yes, I do know exactly what we are
facing. I have been prepared for it ever since I first
saw what a perfectly impossible thing you are attempting.
You are trying to go from almost the Age of Bronze
clear up to year-after-next in a month or two. Not one
man in a million could have done as much in his lifetime
as you have done in the last few weeks, and I do not
see how even you, with what little you have to work
with, can possibly build such things as power-plants,
transmitters, and ultra-radio stations. But what of it?
For the day that it becomes clear that we are to remain
here indefinitely ; that day we will marry each other here,
before God. Look around at this beautiful country.
Could there be a finer world upon which to found a
new race? When we decided to cut loose from the
Arcturus I told you that I was with you all the way, and
now I’ll repeat it, with a lot more meaning. No matter
what it’s like, Steve, no matter where it leads to, I’m
with you — to— the — end — of — the — road. Here or upon
Earth or anywhere in the Universe, I am yours for life
and for eternity.”
W HILE she was speaking, the grim, strained lines
upon Stevens’ face had disappeared, and as she
fell silent he straightened up and gently, tenderly, rever-
ently he took her lithe body into his arms.
“You’re right, sweetheart — everything will check out
on zero, to nineteen decimals.” He was a man trans-
figured. “I’ve been fighting windmills and I’ve been
scared sick — but how was I to think that a wonder-girl
like you could ever love a mutt like me? You certainly
are the gamest little partner a man ever had. You’re the
world’s straightest shooter, ace— you’re a square brick if
there ever was one. .Your sheer nerve in being willing
to go the whole route makes me love you more than
ever, if such a thing can be possible, and it certainly
puts a new face on the whole cock-eyed Universe for
me. However, I don’t believe it will come to that. After
what you’ve just said, I sure will lick that job, regardless
of how many different factories it takes to make one
armature — I’ll show that mess of scrap-iron what kind
of trees make shingles !”
The girl still in his arms, he rose to his feet and re-
leased her slowly, reluctantly, unwilling ever to let her
go. Then he shook himself, as though an overwhelming
burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and laughed
happily.
“See this cigaretfe?” he went on lightly. “The Last
of the Mohicans. I’m going to smoke it in honor of our
engagement.” He drew the fragrant smoke deep into his
lungs and frowned at her in mock seriousness.
“This would be a nice world to live on, of course, but
the jobs here are too darn steady. It also seems to be
somewhat lacking in modern conveniences, such as steel-
mills and machine tools. Then, too, it is just a trifle too
far from the Royal and Ancient for you really to enjoy
living here permanently, and besides. I can’t get my
favorite brand of cigarettes around here. Therefore,
after due deliberation, I don’t believe we’ll take the
place — we’ll go back to Tellus. Kiss me just once more
ace, and I’ll- make that job think a cyclone has struck
it right on the center of impact. Like Samuel Weller,
or whoever it was, I’m clear full of ‘wigor, wim, and
witality’ !”
The specified kiss and several others duly delivered he
strode blithely away, and the little canyon resounded
with the blows of his heavy sledge as he attacked with
renewed spirit the great forging, white-hot from his
soak-pit, which was to become the shaft of his turbo-al-
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
313
ternator. Nadia watched him for a moment, her very
heart in her eyes, then picked up her spanner and went
after more steel, breathing a long and tremulous, but
supremely happy sigh.
CHAPTER IV
Ganymedean Life
S LOW, hard, and disheartening as the work had
been at first, Stevens had never slackened his pace,
and after a time, as his facilities increased, the ex-
asperating setbacks decreased in number and severity
and his progress became faster and faster. Large as the
“Forlorn Hope” was, space was soon at a premium, for
their peculiarly-shaped craft became a veritable fac-
tory, housing a variety of machinery and equipment un-
known in any single earthly industrial plant. Nothing
was ornamental — everything was stripped to its barest
fundamental necessities — but every working part func-
tioned with a smooth precision to delight the senses of
any good mechanic.
In a cavern under the falls was the great turbine, to
be full-fed by the crude but tight penstock which clung
to the wall of the gorge, angling up to the brink of that
stupendous cataract. Bedded down upon solid rock
there was a high-tension alternator capable of absorb-
ing the entire output of the mighty turbine. This turbo-
alternator was connected to a set of converters from
which the energy would flow along three great copper
cables — the receptors of the lifeboats being altogether
too small to carry the load — to the now completely ex-
hausted accumulators of the “Forlorn Hope.” All
high-tension apparatus was shielded and grounded, so
that no stray impulses could reveal to the possible de-
tectors of the Jovians the presence of this foreign power
plant. Housings, frames, spiders, all stationary parts
were rough, crude and massive; but bearings, shafts,
armatures, all moving parts, were of a polished and
finished accuracy and balance that promised months and
years of trouble-free operation. Everything ready for
the test, Stevens took off his frayed and torn leather
coveralls and moccasins and climbed nimbly up the pen-
stock. He never walked down. Opening the head-gate,
he poised sharply upon its extremity and took off in
a perfect swan-dive ; floating unconcernedly down toward
that boiling maelstrom two hundred feet below. He
struck the water with a sharp, smooth “slup !” and raced
ashore, seizing his suit as he ran toward the turbo-
alternator. It was running smoothly, and. knowing that
everything was tight at the receiving end, he lingered
about the power plant until he was assured that nothing
would go wrong and that his home manufactured lubri-
cating oil and grease would keep those massive bearings
cool.
Hunger assailed him, and glancing at the sun, he noted
that it was well past dinner-time.
“Wow!” he exclaimed aloud. “The boss just loves to
wait meals — she’ll burn me up for this!”
He ran lightly toward “home,” eager to tell his sweet-
heart that the long awaited moment had arrived- — -that
power was now' flowing into their accumulators.
“Hi, Diana of the silver bow !” he called. “How come
you no blow' the dinner bell? Power’s on — come give it
a look!”
There was no answer to his hail, and Stevens paused
in shocked amazement. He knew that never of her own
volition would she be out so late — Nadia was gone! A
rapid tour of inspection quickly confirmed that which
he already knew only too well. Forgotten was his
hunger, forgotten the power plant, forgotten everything
except the fact that his Nadia, the bouyant spirit in
whom centered his Universe, was lost or . . . he could
not complete the thought, even to himself.
Swiftly he came to a decision and threw off his suit,
revealing the body of a Hercules — a body ready for any
demand he could put upon it. Always in hard training,
months of grinding physical labor and of heavy eating
had built him up to a point at which he would scarcely
have recognized himself, could he have glanced into a
mirror. Mighty but pliable muscles writhed and swelled
under his clear skin as he darted here and there, selecting
equipment for what lay ahead of him. He donned the
heavily armored space-suit which they had prepared
months before, while they were still suspicious of pos-
sible attack. It was covered with heavy steel at every
point, and the lenses of the helmet, already of unbreak-
able glass, had been re-enforced with thick steel bars.
Tank and valves supplied air at normal pressure, so that
his powerful body could function at full efficiency, not
handicapped by the lighter atmosphere of Ganymede.
The sleeves terminated in steel-protected rubber wrist-
lets which left his hands free, yet sheltered from attack
— wristlets tight enough to maintain the difference in
pressure, yet not tight enough to cut off the circulation.
He took up his mighty war-bow and the full quiver of
heavy arrows — full-feathered and pointed with savagely
barbed, tearing heads of forged steel — and slipped into
their sheaths the long and heavy razor-sharp sword and
the double-edged dirk, which he had made and ground
long since for he knew not what emergency, and whose
bell-shaped hilts of steel further protected his hands and
v'rists. Thus equipped, he had approximately his nor-
mal earthly weight; a fact which would operate to his
advantage, rather than otherwise, in case of possible
combat. With one last look around the “Forlorn Hope,”
whose every fitting spoke to him of the beloved mistress
who was gone, he filled a container with water and
cooked food and opened the door.
“TT won’t be long now ; now it won’t be long,” Naida
caroled happily, buckling on her pack straps and
taking up bow and arrows for her daily hunt. “I never
thought that he could do it, but what it takes to do things,
he’s got lots of,” she continued to improvise the song as
she left the “Hope” with its multitudinous devices whose
very variety was a never-failing delight to her ; showing
as it did the sheer ability of the man, whose brain and
hands had almost finished a next-to-impossible task.
Through the canyon and up a well-worn trail she
climbed, and soon came out upon the sparsely timbered
bench that was her hunting grounds. Upon this day,
however, she was full of happy anticipation and her
mind was everywhere except upon her work. She was
thinking of Stevens, of their love, of the power which he
might turn on that very day, and of the possible rescue
for which she had hitherto scarcely dared to hope. Thus
it was that she walked miles beyond her usual limits
without having loosed an arrow, and she was surprised
when she glanced up at the sun to see that half the morn-
ing was gone and that she was almost to the foothills,
beyond which rose a towering range of mountains.
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AMAZING STORIES
“Snap out of it, girl !” she reprimanded herself. “Go
on wool-gathering like this and your man will go hungry
— and he’ll break you right off at the ankles !” She be-
came again the huntress, and soon saw an animal brows-
ing steadily along the base of a hill. It was a six-legged,
deer-like creature, much larger than anything she had as
yet seen. But it was meat and her time was short, there-
fore she crept within range and loosed an arrow with the
full power of her hunting bow. Unfamiliar as she was
with the anatomy of the peculiar creature, the arrow did
not kill. The “hexaped,” as she instantly named it, sped
away and she leaped after it. She, like her companion,
had developed amazingly in musculature, and few indeed
were the denizens of Ganymede, who could equal her
speed upon that small globe, with its feeble gravitational
force.
Up the foothills it darted. Beyond the hills and
deep into a valley between two towering peaks the chase
continued before Nadia’s third arrow brought the ani-
mal down. Bending over the game, she became con-
scious of a strange but wonderful sweet perfume and
glanced up, to see something which she certainly had not
noticed when the hexaped had fallen. It was an en-
ormous flower, at least a foot in diameter and indescrib-
ably beautiful in its crimson and golden splendor. Al-
most level with her head the gorgeous blossom waved
upon its heavy stem ; based by a massive cluster of en-
ormous, smooth, dark green leaves. Entranced by this
unexpected and marvelous floral display, Nadia breathed
deeply of the inviting fragrance — and collapsed sense-
less upon the ground. Thereupon the weird plant moved
over toward her, and the thick leaves began to enfold her
knees. This carnivorous thing, however, did not like the
heavy cloth of her suit and turned to the hexaped. It
thrust several of its leaves into the wounds upon the
carcass and fed, while two other leaves rasped together,
sending out a piercing call.
In answer to the sound the underbrush crackled, and
through it and upon the scene there crashed a vegetable-
animal nightmare — the parent of the relatively tiny thing
whose perfume had disabled the girl.
Its huge and gorgeous blossom was supported by a
long, flexible, writhing stem, and its base was composed
of many and highly specialized leaves. There were saws
and spears and mighty, but sinuous tendrils; there were
slender shoots which seemed to possess some sense of
perception ; there was the massive tractor base composed
of extensible leaves which by their contraction and ex-
pansion propelled the mass along the ground. Parent
and child fell upon the hexaped, and soon bones and
hair were all that remained. The slender shoots then
wandered about the unconscious girl in her strange
covering, and as a couple of powerful tendrils coiled
about her and raised her into the air over the monstrous
base of the thing, its rudimentary brain could almost be
perceived working as it sluggishly realized that, now full
fed, it should carry this other victim along, to feed its
other offspring when they should return to its side.
B ARELY outside the door of the “Forlorn Hope”
Stevens whirled about with a bitter imprecation.
He had already lost time needlessly — with a lookout
plate he could cover more ground in ten minutes than he
could cover afoot in a week. He flipped on the power
and shot the violet beam out over the pleateau to the
district where he knew Nadia was wont to hunt. Not
finding her there, he swung the beam in an ever widen-
ing circle around that district. Finally he saw a few
freshly broken twigs, and scanned the scene with care.
He soon found the trail of fresh blood which marked
the path of the flight of the hexaped, and with the pecu-
liar maneuverability of the device he was using, it was
not long until he was studying the scene where the en-
counter had taken place. He gasped when he saw the
bones and perceived three of Nadia’s arrows, but soon
saw that the skeleton was not human and was reassured.
Casting about in every direction, he found Nadia’s bow,
and saw a peculiar, freshly trampled path leading from
the kill, past the bow, down the valley. He could not
understand the spoor, but it was easily followed, and he
shot the beam along it at headlong speed until he came
up with the monstrous creature that was making it —
until he saw what burden that organism was carrying.
He leaped to the controls of the lifeboat, then dropped
his hand. While the stream of power now flowing was
ample to operate the lookout plates, yet it would be many
hours before the accumulator cells would be in condition
to drive the craft even that short distance.
“It’ll take over an hour to get there — hefe’s hoping
I can check in all x,” he muttered savagely, as he took
careful note of the location and direction of the crea-
ture’s trail and set off at a fast jog-trot.
The carnivorous flower’s first warning that all was not
well was received when Stevens’ steel-shod feet landed
squarely upon its base and one sweeping cut of his sword
loppd off the malignant blossom and severed the two
tendrils that still held the unconscious Nadia. With a
quick heave of his shoulder, he- tossed her lightly back-
ward into the smooth-beaten track the creature had made
and tried to leap away — but the instant he had consumed
in rescuing the girl had been enough for the thing to
seize him, and he found himself battling for his very
life. No soft-leaved infant this, but a full-grown
monster, well equipped with mighty weapons of offense
and defense. Well it was for the struggling man that
he was encased in armor steel as those saw-edged, hard-
spiked leaves drove against him with crushing force ;
well it was for him that he had his own independent air
supply, so that that deadly perfume eddied ineffective
about his helmeted head ! Hard and fiercely driven as
those terrible thorns were, they could do no more than
dent his heavy armor. His powerful left arm, driving
the double-razor-edged dirk in short, resistless arcs,
managed to keep the snaky tendrils from coiling about
his right arm, which was wielding the heavy, trenchant
sword. Every time that mighty blade descended it
cleaved its length through snapping spikes and impo-
tently grinding leaves ; but more than once a flairling ten-
dril coiled about his neck armor and held his helmet im-
movable as though in a vise, while those frightful, grind-
ingsaws sought to rip their way through the glass to the
living creature inside the peculiar metal housing. Dirk
and saber and magnificent physique finally triumphed,
but it was not until each leaf was literally severed from
every other leaf that the outlandish organism gave up
the ghost.
N ADIA had been tossed out into pure air, beyond
the zone of the stupefying perfume, and she re-
covered her senses in time to see the finish of the bat-
tle. Stevens, assured that his foe was hors du combat,
turned toward the spot where he had thrown Nadia’s
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
315
body. He saw that she was unharmed, and sprang
toward her in relief. He was surprised beyond mea-
sure, however, to see her run away at a pace he could
not hope to equal, encumbered as he was ; motioning
frantically at him the while to keep away from her. He
stopped, astounded, and started to unscrew his helmet,
whereupon she dashed back toward him, signaling him
emphatically to leave his armor exactly as it was. He
stood still and stared at her, an exasperated question
large upon his face, until she made clear to him that he
was to follow her at a safe distance, then she set off at
a rapid walk. She led him back to where the hexaped
had fallen, where she retrieved her bow and arrows;
then, keeping a sharp lookout upon all sides, she went
on to a small stream of water. She made the dumb-
founded man go out into the middle of the creek and
lie down and roll over in the water, approaching him
sniffing cautiously between immersions. She made him
continue the bathing until she could detect not even the
slightest trace of the sweet, but noxious fragrance of that
peculiarly terrible form of Ganymedean life. Only then
did she allow him to remove his helmet, so that she
could give him the greeting for which they both had
longed and tell him what it was all about.
“So that’s it, ace!” he exclaimed, still holding her
tightly in his iron embrace. “Great balls of fire! I
thought maybe you were still a little cuckoo. Anaesthetic
perfume, huh? Hot stuff, I’d say — no wonder you bit
—I would, too. It’s lucky for us I was air-tight — we’d
both be fee . . .”
“Stop it !” she interrupted him sharply. “Forget it —
don’t ever even think of it !”
“All x, ace. It’s out like the well known light. What
to do? It’s getting darker than a hat, and we’re a long
way from home. Don’t know whether I could find my
way back in the dark or not; and just between you and
me. I’m not particularly keen on night travel in these
parts after what’s just happened. Are you?”
“Anything else but,” she assured him, fervently.
“I’d lots rather stay hungry until tomorrow.”
“No need of that — I’ve brought along enough supper
for both of us. I’m hungry as a wolf, too, now that I
have time to think of it. We’ll eat and den up some-
where — or climb a tree. Those wampuses probably can’t
climb trees !”
“There’s a nice little cave back there about a hun-
dred meters. We’ll pretend it's the Ritz,” and they
soon had a merry fire blazing in front of the retreat.
There they ate of the provisions Stevens had brought.
Then, while the man rolled up boulders before the nar-
row entrance of the cave, Nadia gathered leaves and
made a soft bed upon its warm, dry floor.
“Good night, lover,” and the girl, untroubled and se-
cure now that Stevens was at her side, was almost in-
stantly asleep ; but the man was not sleepy. He thought
of the power plant, even now sending its terrific stream
of energy into his accumulators. He thought of the
ultra- radio — where could he get all the materials needed ?
He thought of his friends, wondering whether or not
they would receive his message. He thought of Breck-
enridge and the other human beings who had been aboard
the Arcturus, wondering poignantly as to their fate. He
thought of Newton and of his own people, who had
certainly given them up for dead long since.
But above all he thought of the beautiful, steel-true
companion lying there asleep at his mailed feet, and he
gazed down at her, his heart in his eyes. The firelight
shone through the chinks between the boulders, casting
a flickering ruddy light throughout the little cavern.
Nadia lay there her head pillowed upon one strong,
brown little hand. Her lips were red and sweetly curved,
her cheek was smooth and firm as so much brown vel-
vet. She was literally aglow with sheer beauty and
with perfect health ; and the man reflected, as he studied
her hungrily, that this wild life certainly had agreed
with her — she was becoming more surpassingly beau-
tiful with every passing day.
“You little trump — you wonderful, lovely, square lit-
tle brick!” he breathed silently, and bent over to touch
her cheek lightly with his lips. Slight as the caress was,
it disturbed her, and even in her sleep her subconscious
mind sent out an exploring hand, to touch her Steve and
thus be reassured. He pressed her hand and she settled
back comfortably, with a long, deep breath; and he
stretched his iron-clad length beside her and closed his
eyes, firmly resolved not to waste a minute of this won-
derful night in sleep.
When he opened them an instant later, it was broad
daylight, the boulders had been rolled away, the fra-
grance of roasting meat permeated the atmosphere, and
Nadia was making a deafening clamor, beating his
steel breastplate lustily with the flat of his huge saber.
“Daylight in the swamp, you sleeper !” she exclaimed.
“Roll out or roll up ! Come and get it, before I throw
it away!”
“I must have been kind of tired,” he said sheepishly,
when he saw that she had shot a bird and had cooked
breakfast for them both while he had been buried in
oblivion.
“Peculiar, too, isn’t it?” Nadia asked, pointedly. “You
only did about ten days’ work yesterday in ten minutes,
swinging this frightful snickersnee of yours. Why, you
played with it as though it were a knitting-needle, and
when I wanted to wake you up with it, I could hardly lift
it.”
“Thought you didn’t want that subject even men-
tioned ?” he tried to steer the talk away from his prowess
with the broadsword.
“That was yesterday,” airily. “Besides, I don’t mind
talking about you— it’s thinking about us being . . . you
know . . that I can't stand.”
“All x, ace. I get you — right. Let’s eat.”
B REAKFAST over, they started down the valley,
Stevens carrying his helmet under his arm. Hardly
had they started however, than Nadia’s keen eyes saw
a movement through the trees, and she stopped and
pointed. Stevens looked once, then hand in hand they
dashed back to their cave.
“We’ll pile up some of the boulders and you lie low,”
he instructed her as he screwed on his helmet. She
snapped open his face-plate.
“But what about you? Aren’t you coming in, too?”
she demanded.
“Can’t— they’d surround us and starve us out. I’m
safe in this armor — thank Heaven we made it as solid as
we did — and I’ll fight ’em in the open. I’ll show ’em
what the bear did to the buckwheat!”
“All right, I guess, but I wish I had my armor, too,”
she mourned as he snapped shut his plate and walled her
into the cave with the same great rocks he had used
the night before. Then, Nadia safe from attack, he
316
AMAZING STORIES
drew his quiver of war-arrows into position over his
shoulder, placed one at the ready on his bow-string
and turned to face the horde of things rushing up the
valley toward him. Wild animals he had supposed them,
but as he stood firm and raised his weapon shrill
whistles sounded in the throng, and he gasped as he re-
alized that those frightful creatures must be intelligent
beings, for not only did they signal to each other, but
he saw that they were armed with bows and arrows,
spears, and slings!
Six-limbed creatures they were, of a purplish-red
color, with huge, tricornigerous heads and with staring,
green, phosphorescent eyes. Two of the six limbs were
always legs, two always arms ; the intermediate two,
due to a mid-section jointing of the six-foot-long, al-
most cylindrical body, could be used at will as either
legs or arms. Now, out of range, as they supposed,
they halted and gathered about one who was apparently
their leader; some standing erect and waving four
hands while shaking their horns savagely in Stevens’
direction, others trotting around on four legs, busily
gathering stones of suitable size for their vicious slings.
Too far away to use their own weapons and facing
only one small four-limbed creature, they considered
their game already in the bag, but they had no compre-
hension of earthly muscles, nor any understanding of
the power and range of a hundred-pound bow driving a
steel-headed war arrow. Thus, while they were arguing,
Stevens took the offensive, and a cruelly barbed steel
war-head tore completely through the body of their
leader and mortally wounded the creature next beyond
him. Though surprised, they were, not to be frightened
off, but with wild, shrill screams rushed to the attack.
Stevens had no ammunition to waste, and every time
that mighty bow twanged a yard-long arrow transfixed
at least one of the red horde— and a body through which
had torn one of those ghastly, hand-forged arrow-heads
was of very little use thereafter. Accurately-sped ar-
rows splintered harmlessly against the re-enforced win-
dows of his helmet and against the steel guards pro-
tecting his hands. He was almost deafened by the din
as the stone missiles of the slingers rebounded from his
reverberating shell of steel, but he fired carefully, stead-
ily, and powerfully until his last arrow had been loosed.
Then, the wicked dirk in his left hand and the long and
heavy saber weaving a circular path of brilliance in the
sun, he stepped forward a couple of paces to meet the
attackers. For a few moments nothing could stand be-
fore that fiercely driven blade — severed heads, limbs,
and fragments of torsos literally filled the air, but sheer
weight of numbers bore him down. As he fell, he saw
the whte shaft of one of Nadia’s hunting-arrows flash
past his helmet and bury itself to the nock in the body of
one of the horde above him. Nadia knew that her ar-
rows could not harm her lover, and through a chink be-
tween two boulders she was shooting into the thickest of
the mob speeding her light arrows with the full power
of her bow.
Though down, the savages soon discovered that Stev-
ens was not out. In such close quarters he could not
use his sword, but the fourteen-inch blade of the dirk,
needle-pointed as it was and with two razor-sharp, ser-
rated cutting edges, was itself no mean weapon, and
time after time he drove it deep, taking life at every
thrust. Four more red monsters threw themselves upon
the prostrate man, but not sufficiently versed in armor
to seek out its joints, their fierce short spear thrusts did
no damage. Presently four more corpses lay still and
Stevens, with his, to them incredible, earthly strength,
was once more upon his feet in spite of their utmost ef-
forts to pinion his mighty limbs, and was again swinging
his devastating weapon. Half their force lying upon the
field, wiped out by a small, but invincible and apparently
invulnerable being, the remainder broke and van, pur-
sued by Stevens to the point where the red monsters had
first halted. He recovered his arrows and returned to
the cave, opening his face-plate as he came.
“All x, sweetheart?” he asked, rolling away the boul-
ders. “Didn’t get anything through to you, did they?”
“No, they didn’t even realize that I was taking part
in the battle, I guess. Did they hurt you while they
had you down? I was scared to death for a minute.”
“No, the old armor held. One of them must have
gnawed on my ankle some, between the greave and the
heel-plate, but he couldn’t quite get through. ’Sa darn
small opening there, too — must have bent my foot ’way
around to get in at all. Have to tighten that joint up a
little, I guess. . I’ll bet I’ve got a black spot and blue
spot there the size of my hand — maybe it’s only the size
of yours, though.”
“You won’t die of that, probably. Heavens, Steve,
that cleaver of yours is a frightful thing in action ! Sup-
pose it’s safe for us to go home?”
“Absolutely- — right now is the best chance we’ll ever
have, and something tells me that we’d better make it
snappy. They’ll be back, and next time they won’t be
so easy to take.”
“All x, then — hold me, Steve, I can’t stand the sight
of that — let alone wade through it. I’m going to faint
or something, sure.”
“As you were !” he snapped. “You aren’t going to
pass out now that it’s all over ! It’s a pretty ghastly
mess, I know, but shut your eyes and I’ll carry you out
of sight.”
“Aren’t we out of sight of that place yet?” she de-
manded after a time.
“Flave been for quite a while,” he confessed, “but
you’re sitting pretty, aren’t you? And you aren’t very
heavy — not here on Ganymede, anyway !”
“"PUT me down!” she commanded. “After that crack
A 1 won’t play with you any more at all— I’ll pick up
my marbles and go home !”
He released her and they hurried back toward their
waterfall, keeping wary eyes sharp-set for danger in any
form, animal or vegetable. On the way back across the
foothills Stevens shot another hexaped, and upon the
plateau above the river Nadia bagged several birds and
small animals, but it was not until they were actually in
their own little canyon that their rapid pace slackened
and their vigilance relaxed.
“After this, ace, we hunt together and we go back to
wearing armor while we’re hunting. It scared me out
of a year’s growth when you checked up missing.”
“We sure do, Steve,” she concurred emphatically.
“I’m not going to get more than a meter away from you
from now on. What do you suppose those horrible
things are?”
“Which?”
“Both.”
“Those flowers aren’t like anything Tellus ever saw,
so we have no basis of comparison. They may be a de-
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC
317
velopment of a flycatching plant, or they may be a link
between the animal and the vegetable kingdom. How-
ever, we don’t intend to study ’em, so let’s forget ’em.
Those animals were undoubtedly intelligent beings ; they
probably are a race of savages of this satellite.”
“Then the really civilized races are probably . . .”
“Not necessarily — there may well be different types,
each struggling toward civilization. They certainly are
on Venus, and they once were on Mars.”
“Why haven’t we see anything like that before, in all
these months? Things have been so calm and peaceful
that we thought we had the whole world to ourselves,
as far as danger or men were concerned.”
“We never saw them before because we never went
where they lived — you were a long ways from your
usual stamping-grounds, you know. That animal-vege-
table flower is probably a high-altitude organism, living
in the mountains and never coming as low as we are
down here. As for the savages — whatever they are —
they probably never come within five kilometers of the
falls. Many primitive peoples think that waterfalls are
inhabited by demons, and maybe these folks are afflicted
the same way.”
“We don’t know much about our new world yet, do
we?”
“We sure don’t — and I’m not particularly keen on
finding out much more about it until we get organized
for trouble, either. Well, here we are — just like getting
back home to see the ‘Hope,’ isn’t it?”
“It is home, and will be until we get one of our own
on earth,” and after Stevens had read his meters, learn-
ing with satisfaction that the full current was still flow-
ing into the accumulators, he began to cut up the meat.
“Now that you’ve got the power-plant running at
last, what next?” asked Nadia, piling the cuts in the
freezer.
“Brandon’s ultra-radio comes next, but it’s got more
angles to it than a cubist’s picture of a set of prisms ;
so many that I don’t know where to begin. There, that
job’s done — let’s sit down and I’ll talk at you awhile.
Maybe between us we can figure out where to start.
I’ve got everything to build it lined up except for the
tube, but that’s got me stopped cold. You see, fields
of force are all right in most places, but I’ve got to have
one tube, and it’s got to have the hardest possible vacuum.
That means a mercury-vapor super-pump. Mercury
is absolutely the only thing that will do the trick and
the mercury is one thing that is conspicuous by its ab-
sence in these parts. So are tungsten for filaments,
tantalum for plates, and platinum for leads ; and I haven’t
found anything that I can use as a getter, either — a
metal, you know, to flash inside the tube to clean up the
last traces of atmosphere in it.”
“I didn’t suppose that such a simple thing as a radio
tube could hold you up, after the perfectly unbelievable
things that you have done already — but I see now how
it could. Of course, the tubes in our receiver over
there are too small?”
“Yes, they are only receiver and communicator tubes,
and I need a high-power transmitting tube — a fifty-kilo-
watter, at least. I’d give my left leg to the knee joint
for one of those big water-cooled, sixty-kilowatt ten-
nineteens right now — it would save us a lot of grief.”
“Maybe you could break up those tubes and use the
plates and so on?”
“I thought of that, but it won’t work — there isn’t
half enough metal in the lot, and the filaments in par-
ticular are so tiny that I couldn’t possibly work them
over into a big one. Then, too, we haven’t got many
spare tubes, and if I smash the ones we’re using, I put
our communicators out of business for good, so that we
can’t yell for help if we have to drift home— and I still
don’t get any mercury.”
“Do you mean to tell me there’s no mercury on this
whole planet?”
“Not exactly; but I do mean that I haven’t been able
to find any, and that it’s probably darned scarce. And
since all the other metals I want worst are also very
dense and of high atomic weight, they’re probably mighty
scarce here, too. Why? Because we’re on a satellite,
and no matter what hypthesis you accept for the origin
of satellites, you come to the same conclusion — that
heavy metals are either absent or most awfully scarce
and buried deep down toward the center. There are lots
of heavy metals in Jupiter somewhere, but we probably
couldn’t find them. Jupiter’s atmosphere is one mass of
fog, and we couldn’t see, since we haven’t got an infra-
red transformer. I could build one, in time, but it would
take quite a while — and we couldn’t work on Jupiter,
anyway, because of its gravity and probably because of
its atmosphere. And even if we could work there, we
don’t want to spend the rest of our lives prospecting
for mercury.” Stevens fell silent, brow wrinkled in
thought.
“You mean, dear, that we’re . . .” Nadia broke off,
the sentence unfinished.
“Gosh, no ! There’s lots of things not tried yet, and
we can always set out to drift it. I was thinking only
of building the tube. And I’m trying to think . . . say,
Nadia, what do you know about Cantrell’s Comet?”
“Not a thing, except that I remember reading in the
newspapers that it was peculiar for something or other.
But what has Cantrell’s Comet got to do with the high
cost of living — or with radio tubes? Have you gone
cuckoo all of a sudden?”
“You’d be surprised!” Stevens grinned at her puzzled
expression. “Cantrell’s Comet is one of Jupiter’s comet
family and is peculiar in being the most massive one
known to science. It was hardly known until after they
built those thousand-foot reflectors on the Moon, where
the seeing is always perfect, but it has been studied a
lot since then. Its nucleus is small, but extremely heavy
— it seems to have an average density of somewhere
around sixteen. There’s platinum and everything else
that’s heavy there, girl ! They ought to be there in such
quantity that even such a volunteer chemist as I am
could find them !”
“TTEAVENS, Steve!” A look of alarm flashed over
O Nadia’s face, then disappeared as rapidly as it
had come into being. “But of course, comets aren’t
really dangerous.”
“Sure not. A comet’s tail, which so many people are
afraid of as being poison gas, is almost a perfect vacuum,
even at its thickest, and we’d have to wear space-suits
anyway. And speaking of vacuum . . . whoopee ! We
don’t need mercury any more than a goldfish needs a gas-
mask. When we get Mr. Tube done, we’ll take him out
into space, leaving his mouth open, and very shortly
he’ll be as empty as a flapper’s skull. Then we’ll seal
him up, flash him out, come back here, and start spilling
our troubles into Brandon’s shell-like ear !”
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AMAZING STORIES
“Wonderful, Steve! You do get an idea occasionally,
don’t you ? But how do we get out there ? Where is this
Cantrell’s Comet?”
“I don’t know, exactly — there’s one rub. Another is
that I haven’t even started the transmitter and receptor
units. But we’ve got some field-generators here on board
that I can use, so it won’t be so bad. And our comet is
in this part of the solar system somewhere fairly close.
Wish we had an Ephemeris, a couple of I-P solar charts,
and a real telescope.”
“You can’t do much without an Ephemeris, I should
think. It’s a good thing you kept the chronometers go-
ing. You know the I-P time, day, and dates, anyway.”
“I’ll have to do without some things, that’s all,” and
the man stared absently at the steel wall. “I remember
something about its orbit, since it is one thing that all
I-P vessels have to steer clear of. Think I can figure it
close enough so that we’ll be able to find it in our little
telescope, or even on our plate, since we’ll be out of this
atmosphere. And it might not be a bad idea for us to
get away, anyway. I’m afraid of those folks on that
space-ship, whoever they were, and they must live
around here somewhere. Cantrell's Comet swings about
fifty million kilometers outside Jupiter’s orbit at aphelion
— close enough for us to reach, and yet probably too far
for them to find us easily. By the time we get back
here, they probably will have quit looking for us, if
they look at all. Then too. I expect these savages to fol-
low us up. What say, little ace — do we try it or do we
stay here?”
“You know best, Steve. As I said before, I’m with
you from now on, in whatever you think best to do. I
know that you think it best to go out there. Therefore,
so do I.”
“Well,” he said, finally, “I’d better get busy, then
— there’s a lot to do before we can start. The radio
doesn’t come next, after all — the transmitter and re-
ceptor units come ahead of it. They won’t mean wasted
labor, in any event, since we’ll have to have them in case
the radio fails. You’d better lay in a lot of supplies while
I’m working on that stuff, but don’t go out of sight, and
yell like fury if you see anything. We’d both better
wear full armor every time, we go out-of-doors — unless
I’m all out of control we aren’t done with those savages
yet. Even though they may be afraid of the demons of
the falls, I think they’ll have at least one more try at us.”
While Nadia brought in meat and vegetables and
stored them away, Stevens attacked the problem of con-
structing the pair of tight-beam, auto-dirigible trans-
mitter and receptor units which would connect his great
turbo-alternator to the accumulators of their craft,
wherever it might be in space. From the force-field
generators of the “Forlorn Hope” he selected the two
most suitable for his purpose, tuned them to the exact
frequency he required, and around them built a complex
system of condensers and coils.
Day after day passed. Their larder was full, the re-
ceptor was finished, and the beam transmitter was almost
ready to attach to the turbo-alternator before the calm
was broken.
“Steve!” Nadia shrieked. Glancing idly into the com-
municator plate, she had been perfunctorily surveying
the .surrounding territory. “They’re coming ! Thousands
of them! They’re all over the bench up there, and just
simply pouring down the hills and up the valley!”
“Wish they’d waited a few hours longer — we’d have
been gone. However, we're just about ready for them,”
he commented grimly, as he stared over her shoulder into
the communicator plate. “We’ll make a lot of those In-
dians wish that they had stayed at home with their
papooses.”
“Have you got all those rays and things fixed up?”
“Not as many as I’d like to have. You see, I don’t
know the composition of the I-P ray, since it is outlawed
to everybody except the police. Of course I could have
found out from Brandon, but never paid any attention to
it. I’ve got some nice ultra-violet, though, and a short-
wave oscillatory that’ll cook an elephant to a cinder in
about eight seconds. We’ll keep them amused, no fool-
ing! Glad we had time to cover our open sides, and it
looks as though that meteorite armor we put over the
projectors may be mighty useful, too.”
On and on the savages came, massed in formations
showing some signs of rude discipline. This time there
was neither shrieking nor yelling; the weird creatures
advanced silently and methodically. Here and there were
massed groups of hundreds, dragging behind them en-
gines which Stevens studied with interest.
“Hm ... m ... m. Catapults,” he mused. “You
were right, girl of my dreams — armor and bows and
arrows wouldn’t help us much right now. They’re going
to throw rocks at us that’ll have both mass and momen-
tum. With those things they can cave in our side-armor,
and might even dent our roof. When one of those pro-
jectiles hits, we want to know where it ain’t, that’s all.”
Stevens cast off the heavily-insulated plug connecting
the power plant leads to his now almost fully charged
accumulators, strapped himself and Nadia into place at
the controls, and waited, staring into the plate. Catapult
after catapult was dragged to the lip of the little canyon,
until six of them bore upon the target. The huge
stranded springs of hair, fiber, and sinew were wound
up to the limit, and enormous masses of rock were
toilsomely rolled upon the platforms. Each “gunner”
seized his trip, and as the leader shrieked his signal the
six ponderous masses of metalliferous rock heaved into
the air as one. But they did not strike their objective,
for as the signal was given, Stevens shot power into his
projectors. The “Forlorn Hope” leaped out of the
canyon and high into the air over the open meadow,
just as the six great projectiles crashed into the ground
upon the spot which, an instant before, she had occupied.
R UDIMENTARY discipline forgotten, the horde
rushed down into the canyon and the valley, in full
clamor of their barbaric urgings. Horns and arms tossed
fiercely, savage noises rent the air, and arrows splintered
harmlessly upon steel plate as the mystified and mad-
dened warriors upon the plain below gave vent to their
outraged feelings.
“Look, Nadia! A whole gang of them are smelling
around that power plug. Pretty soon somebody’s going
to touch a hot spot, and when he does, we’ll cut loose on
the rest of them.”
The huge insulating plug, housing the ends of the
three great cables leading to the converters of the turbo-
alternator, lay innocently upon the ground, its three
yawning holes invitingly open to savage arms. The
chief, who had been inspecting the power-plant, walked
along the triplex lead and joined his followers at its
terminus. Pointing with his horns, he jabbered orders,
and three red monsters, one at each cable, bent to lift the
SPACEHOUNDS OF IPG
319
plug, while the leader himself thrust an arm into each
of the three contact holes. There was a flash of sear-
ing flame and the reeking smoke of burning flesh — those
three arms had taken the terrific no-load voltage of the
three-phase converter system, and the full power of the
alternator had been shorted directly to ground through
the comparatively small resistance of his body.
Stevens had poised the “Forlorn Hope” edgewise in
mid-air, so that the gleaming, heavily armored parabolic
reflectors of his projectors, mounted upon the leading
edge of the fortress, covered the scene below. As the
charred corpse of the savage chieftain dropped to the
ground, it seemed to the six-limbed creatures that the
demons of the falls had indeed been annoyed beyond en-
durance by their intrusion ; for, as if in response to the
flash of fire from the power plug, that structure so
peculiarly and so stolidly hanging in the air came plung-
ing down toward them. From it there reached down
twin fans of death and destruction : one flaming and al-
most invisibly incandescent violet which tore at the
eyes and excruciatingly disintegrated brain and nervous
tissues ; the other dully glowing an equally invisible red,
at the touch of which body temperature soared to lethal
heights and foliage burst cracklingly into spontaneous
flame.
In their massed hundreds, the savages dropped where
they stood, life rived away by the torturing ultra-violet,
burned away by the blast of pure heat, or consumed by
the conflagrations that raged instantly wherever that
wide-sweeping fan encountered combustible material.
I.i the face of power supernatural they lost all thought
of attack or of conquest, and sought only and madly to
escape. Weapons were thrown away, the catapults were
abandoned, and, every man for himself, the mob fled in
wildest disorder, each striving to put as much distance
as possible between himself and that place of dread
mystery, the waterfall.
“Well, I guess that’ll hold ’em for a while,” Stevens
dropped their craft back into its original quarters in the
canyon. “Whether they ever believed before that this
falls was inhabited by devils or not, they think so now.
I'll bet that it will be six hundred Jovian years before
any of them ever come within a hundred kilometers of
it again. I’m glad of it, too, because they’ll let our
power plant alone now. Well, let’s get going — we’ve
got to make things hum for a while!”
“Why all the rush? You just said that we have
scared them away for good.”
“The savages, yes, but not those others. We’ve just
turned loose enough radiation to affect detectors all over
the system, and it’s up to us to get this beam projector
set up, get away from here, and get our power shut off
before they can trace us. Snap it up, ace!”
The transmitter unit was installed at the converters,
the cable was torn out, and, having broken the last ma-
terial link between it and Ganymede, Stevens hurled the
“Forlorn Hope” out into space, using the highest acceler-
ation Nadia could endure. Hour after hour the massive
wedge of steel bored outward, away from Jupiter ;
hour after hour Stevens’ anxious eyes scanned his in-
struments ; hour after hour hope mounted and relief
took the place of anxiety as the screens remained blank
throughout every inquiring thrust into the empty ether.
But they knew they would have to keep sharp vigilance.
End of Part I
What Do You Know?
R EADERS of Amazing Stories have frequently commented upon the fact that there is more actual knowledge
to be gained through reading its pages than from many a text-book. Moreover, most of the stories are written
in a popular vein, making it possible for anyone to grasp important facts.
The questions which we give below are all answered on the pages as listed at the end of the questions. Please
see if you can answer the questions without looking for the answer, and see how well you check up on your general
knowledge of science.
1. What divisions of the particles of matter can give 9.
a simple expression of their relations? (See page
301.) 10 .
2. If in space traveling the vessel kept in the plane of
the ecliptic, what danger would ensue? (See page
303.) 11.
3. What part of the human system might be expected
to cause “space sickness”? (See page 304;)
4. How would lower gravitation affect the falling of
liquid substances, such as the water in a waterfall?
(See page 309.) 13.
5. What were the names in English of the Greek titles
Poseidon and Zeus? (See page 322.) 14.
6. Who or what was the idol, Bel? (See page 327.)
7. What is the Quetzal? (See page 328.)
8. What did the old time Scandinavians or Vikings call 16.
their warships? (See page 330.)
Where would the moon rise if the earth ceased to re-
volve on its axis? (See page 341.)
What is the name of the fungus supposed to be on the
borderland between the animal and vegetable king-
doms ? ( See page 349. )
If sodium chloride in solution in water acted on a
metal directly giving up its chlorine to it, what would
become of the sodium? (See page 362.)
How would the transmission of sound be affected by
altitude? (See page 369.)
What idea is indicated in the word mycetozoan?
(See page 371.)
What is the English language name for the fungus
myxomycetes? (See page 371.)
Where are masses of slime mould found? (See page
371.)
What is the science of fossil plants called? (See
page 374.)
Its architecture was very evidently patterned after
the fungi that swarmed about it. Squat, bulging shapes
massed about huge towering shafts— spherical dome on
slender column, spiraling flame-tongue, thick-stemmed
hooded parasol— all _ myriads shapes of the fungi,
adapted to suit habitation and carved entirely from
the crimson marble.
>
320
Cl
eon
Yzdral
By P. Schuyler Miller
Author of “Through the Vibrations”
r f^HE captivating principle of life , for all we know, may be nothing but an
A . energy form, as light, heat, electricity, or matter . In other words — a dis-
turbance in space or ether. As such, it may well be found combined with any
other energy form — light as well as matter, and with a resulting intelligence.
In the present story the vapor creatures represent life in the vapor state, in mat-
ter, while the “Singing Ones ” are life in the light form of energy — more plaus-
ible if you consider that light may be matter to some other vibrational system
of frequencies. Though the author calls this a parallel to “Through the Vibra-
tions,” this story is, in its way, complete in itself. More than its predecessor,
however, it is very reminiscent of Merritt.
Illustrated by PAUL
Foreword
T HE world knows now the tale of those two
intrepid scientists, Doctor Alexander Gregory
and his assistant, young John Stewart, who
discovered the secret of the resonator, where-
by matter, or any other vibratory motion in
the ether, may be raised or lowered in frequency at will.
Experimenting upon themselves, they traveled to another
plane, another Universe coincident with our own, and
there discovered the lost civilization of Atlantis, trans-
ported there by this same secret many thousands of years
ago. They found Atlantis destroyed, ravished by a race
of vapor creatures without analogy in this world, and in
a measure avenged the dead Atlantides by laying waste
to their unnatural Underworld, deep in the heart of the
planet. Then, with the spoil of the dead Atlantis, they
returned to Earth.
But a month ago, the laboratory of Dr. Gregory, at
Schenectady, was the scene of a remarkable occurrence.
In the middle of the afternoon, as Stewart was at work
on some experiments with orichalcum, the radioactive
alloy of Atlantis, there was a shattering of retorts, and
he turned to find a strange man, strangely clad, lying un-
conscious on the floor, having apparently fallen some ten
feet. He recognized him instantly as an Atlantide, and
with the aid of Dr. Gregory obtained his story.
He was a scientist of Atlantis, from a city still extant
upon an unexplored part of the planet. His ruler had
found the manuscript left in Yzdral. a city of Atlantis,
by Dr. Gregory during the expedition twenty years be-
fore, and Atlantis was sending some of her best scien-
tists to Earth in order to promote friendly and mutually
advantageous relations between the two worlds. As has
Dr. Gregory, this ruler, Cleon, has feared the conse-
quences of unlimited commerce between the worlds at
present, and only a limited number of men from both
worlds have since made the trip, Dr. Gregory, of course,
being among the first. The following manuscript is
the story of this Atlantide emperor, and forms, in a
sense, a sequel or parallel account of the occurrences re-
lated in the story of the first expedition.
Cleon of Yzdral
I AM CLEON of Yzdral, Keeper of the Gates by the
Oath of Poseidon, First Man of the Ranks of
Thula, Emperor of Atlantis. I was a child of ten
years when Luda fell, and Yzdral the Beautiful, and all
the cities of the Second World, Poseidon, save only
Thula, the First, City of the Overlords. I will be an old
man when the children of Poseidon see again the First
Planet. This is my tale, the tale of that Underworld be-
neath Luda and Yzdral, and of the Things of darkness,
and of those others, like them, yet not as they, which the
men of Thule have named the Singing Ones. It is a
321
322
AMAZING STORIES
strange tale, and not short, yet of all men none has seen
more than I. One other there was, then, a youth and I
a full aged man, but he is — not as we.
My father was Keeper before me, and as a child I
remember leaving the rose-red globes of Yzdral far be-
low and rising up, up where strange trees and growths
of crystal mazed the roof of our inner world. I remem-
ber the great bronze cup, with its bare little cells, and the
flaming pool of rose-light at its heart. To him who was
my father the great green gates of the black tower
opened, and a strange bright world of green and polished
black lay without. Often we ventured into it, he and I,
lived in its marvels for many days. Together we would
lie in the lush grass below the black cliffs, the oily green
sea rolling afar off beneath the green sun, heavy fragrant
blooms drooping over us, and watched the colors play
among the shafts of white and royal purple that jutted
up from the pitted red clay. And he would tell me the
lore of the race — tales tens of centuries old, written in
queer old script on crumbling scrolls or handed down by
word of mouth, tales of the First Planet. And I would
laugh, wisely, for even a child might know them as
dreams, untrue. And I was a child.
In the Book of Quetzal they were, the scroll which is
all we know of that first planet from which we came.
It tells of an empire of many isles, whose power was
all over the world — red race, and black, and swarthy
white, even the tall fair warriors of Thule and the
crafty Yellow Ones beyond the Second Sea. It was a
fair, wonderful world, low sunk in the azure sea, with
the plumed summit of snowy Quetza towering above
Thula of the many gates. There were trees, and blos-
soms of untold hue, and in the air flitted little silent
forms of fragile color, powdered with gem dust, while
other larger beings, like them but softly plumed, made
music among the treetops. And there came one,
Emperor of Atlantis and Priest of the Thunderer, who
took to himself the name of fiery Quetza — Quetzalcoatl,
Prince of the Plumed One. He claimed brotherhood
with the spirits of the mountain, and from the radiant
metal of the upper crags he drew the secret of the light-
nings, and toyed with it for the conquest of the world.
There came war with the rebel tributaries, and in a
vision, as he lay stricken on the floor of the council
chamber, the Thunderer came to him, and He of the
Seas, who is our guardian, and spoke. Then he saw
that his race must perish for the evil that lay in it, and
he rose and called down the lightnings of Zeus (Jupiter)
upon Thula. But Poseidon (Neptune) intervened, and
the men of Atlantis came to the Second Planet. A fairy
tale, a net of dreams, I thought, but now — I know not.
More he told me, that I believed, of the outer world
where we lay. Far off, beyond the ever rolling sea,
lay Quetza, no longer smoke-plumed as of old, and
Thula the ancient, now city of the Overlords, and be-
yond, the Southern Land of floating rock and flaming
mountains. Other land there was none, save this where
we lay, walled by the desert of black toward the sun-
rise, and toward the sunset by low, crannied mountains
that dropped slow to the sea beyond. Between lay a
wide basin, filled with rank swampage and haunted by
fearful monsters of the dead past, their day long gone,
lingering through chance. Some day, he said, he would
show me these.
He spoke of the Overlords, men of wealth and power
who drove the people of Atlantis from the upper world
and lived, deathless, dreaming of the Universe. He told
of yet another Quetzalcoatl, hereditary Prince of Quetza,
who led the striving races into the inner world, built the
towers that brought air to the great caverns, raised
Yzdral and Luda and Kor from the level plain, made
light that grain might grow. And he hinted of that un-
seen, dreaded Underworld, mile on mile beneath, long
since sealed off by those who had found it, and been
afraid.
I remember that day when the hard black rock sped
past beneath, until a new world stretched on and on,
rising from lush dark green to the rolling violet of the
far horizon. Below, the matted swamp, a green-scummed
lake and sluggish river festering in its midst. Beyond,
swelling green uplands, great open groves of fragrant,
steepled trees, brought from the First Planet by the
Overlords, and other trees, massive and spreading, with
lobed leaves and little, hard fruits in tiny scaled cups.
And farther still the weathered rock of the mountains.
A voice rang up and up, a thrilling, spiraling music of
heaven. Father showed me a little russet creature, a
bird with speckled, swelling throat, that sang and sang
until our ears failed us, and yet sang on, higher than
man might hear — a being of the First Planet. Too, I
saw the loathsome things of the swamps — huge hulks of
swinging flesh, with long thin necks and tails, little flat
heads, and stupid staring eyes — that bleated and bellowed
in fear and floundered helpless in the mire as our little
aero swooped low.
Thula, I did not see, then. “My son,” he said to me
slowly. “When that day comes when I am gone, and
you are Keeper in my stead, take this gem to Thula,
there beyond the seas, and judge by what you see. It is
my legacy to you, and it is your duty to me and to your
grandsire to obey. Once — but enough !”
T HEN Luda was blasted, and the grey clouds of
death swirled about Yzdral the Beautiful. Beneath
the trident of Poseidon he stood, my father, and led
that hymn of the first planet which men sing over the
dead in battle. A frightened child, muffled in a great
suit and crystal head-piece, I fled to the surface, bearing
the gem which my father gave me in that last long mo-
ment before the gates were opened to the milling mob.
For days I wandered, over the endless sea of rolling
green, until a dot of white lay on the horizon, and
Quetzal rose from the waters beneath my tiny aero.
Through the quiet streets, between stately rows of
marble palaces, I strode unafraid, bearing my blood-red
gem to him of the snowy beard, who was ruler here,
and Prince of Quetza. He took it from my outstretched
palm, and gazed long at it.
“Once was he, too, one of us,” he said slowly. “He
was of the men of ancient Hellas, slaves of Atlantis,
who rose against their masters and brought beauty to
this planet at long last. Do ye think so harshly of us,
Cleon, the cruel Overlords, who drove a decaying people
into the caverns where they might perish, or else rise to
new beauty and new life? He hated us, I think, and
when he went he swore that when this gem should re-
turn, we might judge by the bearer if the people of
Atlantis were not equals of Hellene slaves. He must
have been your father’s father, Cleon, for with him went
a child of your age. What is your thought, Cleon?
You have seen the beauty of this Upper World. Shall
cities mar it? Shall Atlantis return?”
CLEON OF YZDRAL
323
“Atlantis will never return, O Master, for Atlantis
is dead. I seek vengeance, and knowledge of that Under-
world that was sealed so many ages past, from which
grey death has spewed to slay the children of Poseidon.
If ye be men, willing to judge by me a race, avenge
those who have died !”
“Oh!” It was short and quick, like a sob. “I had
thought — otherwise. The Underworld has struck, at
last! Tell me of it.”
And I told him of the pit that had struck up through
Luda, of the tempests that sucked the air from our great
caverns, and of the grey death-spores that rose from
below, blotting out the life of our world so hideously.
He listened, a memory of fear in his face, until I had
done.
“Cleon of Yzdral,” he said finally, “we will avenge
Atlantis. We of Thula know long life. Once, before
the barrier was placed, I saw that Underworld. If it
has opened a way, of itself, there can be only war. It
will take many years to prepare, for we have forgotten
the ways of war. I will not live to see our victory or
defeat, but I will show you the entrance, that you may
go among them unawares, and, Cleon, if your judgment
falters in the future that must come, heed my advice.
Place your trust in that which you see as wholly
beautiful.”
Thirty years is a long time, and in it much was done.
It had long been certain that none survived save the
hundred thousand of Thula, a fourth of them suited for
war. For twenty years after my coming to maturity,
we strove to perfect ourselves and our weapons to such
an extent that we might hope for success against the
Things, at which musty, long-forgotten records hinted.
We had the ray that carves rock, long a tool of my
people, and the blue barrage of the Overlords, but no
more. Vainly had I sought the ancient records for
mention of that lightning of Zeus that was the weapon
of the First Planet, but all had been burned by that
zealot who had brought about the change. And so our
plans were made.
In a small cavern, just above the portal into the
Underworld, we had carved our first fortress and city,
beside the great fault that ran up five hundred miles to
our desolate inner world. The portal we would also
fortify, and then carve a second fortress, somewhere in
the rocky wastes of the mountains that girdled the sea
of the Underworld. Should the first city fall, the open-
ing to the surface would be automatically sealed, giving
respite to the remaining people of Thula.
I can never forget my first sight of the Underworld.
Down the great chasm of the fault floated aero after
aero, bearing the fifty thousand of our army to the
squat black city that was rising from the cavern floor.
About it ran a thin red ribbon of orichalcum, ready to
set up a barrage of flaming energy that no normal force
could pass. Far beyond, flanking the huge arch of the
opening, were long low fortresses, while three great
sheets of flickering blue sealed the opening itself. Be-
low, the fault dropped into unfathomed blackness, the
sheer rocks slowly narrowing. It closed at both ends of
the cavern, at one of them the triple barrier.
The barrage dropped, and I sped through, between
the looming walls of the forts, into a winding, vaulted
passage that dropped slowly for perhaps a mile until it
opened, high in the face of the cliff, on a wilderness of
tumbled black rock, harsh and ragged as if splintered by
a sudden blow. Far to the left, through the clustered
crags, a pale white sea lapped soundlessly. Above,
luminous grey clouds hung low, concealing the roof of
the huge cavern, which, from the curvature of the wall,
must lie not far above, perhaps a mile at the most. To
the right, the fault opened again, this time widening as
it sank into the bowels of the planet, and extending out
of sight along the sheer end wall of the cavern.
Not until all was in readiness did we venture beyond
the mountains. Then, leading a fleet of a hundred
aeros, I set out over the troubled waste, following the
chart of those who had been here many years before.
Then the mass of black crags was past, and we sped low
over a twisted jungle of horrible vegetation — smooth
tentacular trees rising from steaming pools of creeping
yellow scum, slimy limbs twisting with sentient life,
livid moulds of fungi making great dripping sores in the
smooth, leathery trunks — a living, hellish morass !
Huge orchid-like blooms of rotten purple and festering,
angry crimson clung to the trunks and branches, stirring
hungrily as fetid, putrid odors floated up from the
swamp. Here and there in the sluggish waters a glist-
ening formless thing would disturb the slowly stirring
yellow scum. Now and again a tentacular limb would
writhe down into the slime and return, dripping with
filth, its cup-shaped end of smoky orange slowly suck-
ing in an agonizedly twitching form. Once we saw a
huge pale grub, larger than a man, blindly groping in
the tangle of snaky roots, its naked body horribly alive
with fungus. It was revolting, disgusting, and we were
glad to skirt the steep black shore, hanging low, searching
for the natural amphitheater that lay somewhere beyond
this living morass.
At last it lay beneath us, a narrow, rising defile open-
ing into a broad, low-rvalled oval. Here would be our
second walled city-fortress, where we would lie in
wait, while our ships searched for the unknown Things
whose city, whatever it be, lay somewhere beyond in the
heart of the swamp. We had come prepared to build,
and soon the rock-dust was being blown aside by the
cutting blasts, as a strong squat city took form on the
level plain — low enough to afford a poor target for mis-
siles, massive-walled, roofed with the unbroken rock
from which it was carved, with the great aero-pit in its
center and tier after tier of rooms spreading out over
an area nearly equal to that of one of our great ventila-
tors. About it, and across the neck of the defile ran the
thin ribbons of orichalcum that gave rise to our blue
barrage. All this for defense. We must learn more of
the Things that we must combat, before we could choose
our weapons.
F OR months we had lost contact with the first city,
and now at last I led half our number homeward for
reinforcements. Low through the steaming mists, skirt-
ing the shore for safety, we sped toward the triply
barred portal leading to our great stronghold. Soon the
gaping corridor opened before us, and we shot up its
tortuous length, bringing up short before the opening
into the cavern, shocked, startled, wondering. The
triple barrage was gone!
Reckless of all save the fate of our comrades, we
hurtled through the great arch into the cave. Where
hope had been, lay despair. Fused into a waxen grey
slag, billowing on the cavern floor, were the remains of
our city, the fortress held by four-fifths of our little
324
AMAZING STORIES
army. Gone were men, aeros, supplies, everything,
cruelly annihilated while their leader was not with them,
was supervising the work that a man in ranks might
have seen to, gratifying his curiosity as to the strange
world beyond the barrage! Only the fused waste re-
mained, melted by some weapon far more awful than
anything of ours. It meant the end for the people of
Thula, as for them of Yzdral and Luda!
As we put about to leave, a single small aero, capable
of carrying twenty men, dropped from the gloom of the
chasm above, a lone survivor of what had occurred.
We dropped to the cave floor and advanced to meet the
single figure that came to meet us. He gave the salute,
arm raised, palm forward.
“Sir,” he reported, “I was a messenger from Thula,
bearing a request for news of your progress. As I
came into the cavern, I saw at once that the barrages
at the portal and about the city were gone. Flooding
over the city were thousands of great spheres of light,
bursting into cascades of flame that made the hard
basalt flow like water, fusing the great fortress into a
smoking chaos that suddenly began to turn white with
frost! Then the spheres disappeared, suddenly, into
thin air, and the cavern was empty ! There was a great
storm, and then, after a long time, you came. And,
Sir, I — I suppose you do not believe me, but there was
nothing there, nothing but the spheres of flame. I swear
it ! I arft telling the truth, or else — I must be mad.”
“I believe you. You have seen nothing of this Under-
world. You will be more credulous when you have.
You are not mad, do not fear that. Why, the explana-
tion is simple, very simple, and what you have seen w r ill
aid us greatly! The enemy, whatever they are, were
camouflaged to match the black rock. No wonder you
could not see them ! What is really serious is the fact
that we are cut off from the upper world, isolated to
win or. lose as we stand, alone! We must return at
once, and prepare for sudden attack. Come, follow
us.”
Apparently the Things did not know of our presence
in the oval valley, for during the next two months we
were not molested. As a further precaution against
surprise, the mile of plain between the barrage and the
fortress was riddled with fine jets which would spray
forth a quickly drying white enamel, effectively show-
ing up anything on it. Later, while I was gone, it was
extended beyond the barrage, to give ample warning of
approach. Little good it could do us, but that we did
not know then, and when we did it was too late.
Then, one day, tired of waiting so fruitlessly, I
manned a small aero with twenty of my youngest men
and set out on a scouting cruise. With me, in the little
control room in the bow of the ship, was the same youth
who had witnessed the destruction of the first fortress ;
he was named Hektor (Hector of Troy) after the
custom of the Overlords, a name of ancient Hellas. He
seemed carefree, and scornful of an enemy that must re-
sort to disguise, and babbled light-heartedly of a long
poem which he would some day write, an epic of our
conquest of the Underworld. There was a girl, too,
older than he, back in Thula, who would welcome him, a
hero, and be less haughty before the returned warrior.
He sang the old songs of the First Planet, epics always,
of that first Prince of Quetzal, who bore learning into
the western lands under the plumed manner of the
world-serpent, Quetza, whose mouth was the mountain
above Thula, of the old sea-rovers whence our race
sprang, rousing ballads of war and victory and reward.
Poor lad, how could he guess that he would never again
see Thula, never even be able to die? I was twice his
age, already grey. Why could I not have gone, rather
than he? I think that to me life among the Singing
Ones would not be cruel, but for him, with hopes and
memories fresh in his mind, I am sure that that part of
him that is yet of Man yearns for the old life. But it
was not willed.
And now, miles away over the steaming swamps, the
land was rising slightly, giving birth to a new form of
life. The grey and slimy yellow of the jungle gave
place to a riotous chaos of raw color — bruised purples,
angry crimsons, wan whites, smoky oranges, pale blues.
There lay an enormous tangled forest of gigantic fungi,
bulbous and distorted, that stretched as far as the eye
could scan into the lowering grey mists. There were
huge bulbs on thick stems, and slender twisting spires,
and thick, squat slabs — a livid nightmare forest. And
above it billowed vast dark clouds that tossed uneasily
in the fitful air currents that swept in from the swamp-
land, the grey death-dust that had slain Yzdral. Here,
somewhere in this wilderness of raw, rotting color, must
be the city, the stronghold of the Things we sought.
Even as we looked out over the twisted sea of vegetation,
the luminous mists swept aside for an instant, and there
at the limit of sight lay a blot of color more vivid even
than the fungi, a blaze of crimson, that vanished again
as the clouds swooped in around us. At a word from
me, we drifted slowly over the wilderness of fungus
growths toward that half-seen vision, moving slowly and
carefully to avoid surprise, for in that instant we might
well have been seen.
Hektor was watching the twisted forest drift past be-
neath us, trying to count the myriad forms and colors,
perhaps even classifying them mentally. Suddenly he
pointed ahead.
“Look, Sir! Below there — that cloud. It must be
from a very different sort of fungus, for it is black, so
very black that it is hard to see. All these other spore-
clouds are grey, like the death-dust. Might we hover
for a moment, Sir, so that I can look for the fungus?”
“Certainly. It is a very interesting thing to find here,
is it not? Give the order to drop, and hover over it.”
I was, myself, interested, for the cloud was extremely
queer-looking. It was, as Hektor had said, practically
invisible, seen only in silhouette against the vivid colors
of the fungus below it. It was moving slowly, as if it
were being sucked up into a sort of spherical ball, mov-
ing with a queer viscidity that I had never seen in vapor
before. It was apparently very dense, hanging even
low r er than the luminous ceiling of clouds and the masses
of grey spores, just above the tops of the fungi.
N OW we were hanging motionless, barely five hun-
dred feet above it, and I could see plainly that it
was condensing into a smooth, perfect sphere that seemed
to be revolving slowly. Yes, it was spinning more and
more rapidly with every second, and shrinking simul-
taneously into a globe less than half the size of the
original sphere. I could feel a tenseness in the air, a
breathlessness that plucked at the mind and stretched it
to the breaking point. Hektor looked drawn and pale
beside me, his eyes filled with something that I could
not state in words, but which I could feel in me, too,
CLEON OF YZDRAL
325
tearing at my mentality. Then the tension burst, the
black sphere leapt in an instant to twice its original size,
then collapsed again like a pricked bladder into a little
black globe from whose hidden heart burned a rosy
radiance, spreading, swelling into a great mottled orb
of opalescent flame, that spun dazzlingly before us as
the tension grew again to unbearable magnitude. Be-
side me, Hektor gave a strangled, agonized groan, ris-
ing suddenly to a high-pitched chatter of terror.
“Zeus ! The flame ! Poseidon save me ! Why do
you stand there, you fool? Zeus damn you, can’t you
sec? It is the flame — the Thing!”
Madly he hurled me aside and jerked at the controls.
Like a talcon unhooded, we sprang into the air, fled
blindly. What could he mean? Was he mad, fasci-
nated by the shining globe of light? Or could it be—
could, that cloud of black vapor be the Thing we were
seeking to destroy ? The reply came soon. From the
whirling ball of light a light darted jet on jet of rose-
flame, beautiful but awful, blinding us ! On the instant
came a blaze of awful heat, then we were falling head-
long through empty air, gasping in the unnatural at-
mosphere, the half destroyed control room still about
us, while ship, crew, everything else fell in a searing rain
of molten matter ! Huge twisted forms rushed up at
us, there was a pulpy rending, a shattering of crystal,
and black silence!
I came to myself to find the remains of the control
room buried in a disgusting mass of fungoid refuse,
which we had brought with us in our crashing descent.
This it was that broke our fall and saved us from later
destruction by the black mist-creature, for when we
struggled out of our crystal prison, shaken and filthy,
but otherwise quite safe, we found the fused remains of
the aero fairly bristling with frost crystals. The air
near the wreck was deathly cold, and the fungi nearest
the burned area were shriveling under the unaccustomed
temperature. Above, from the lowering clouds, was
dropping a fine grey snow, such as is but rarely found
in the upper world.
Hektor, rather sheepish since his display of unguarded
terror, spoke timidly.
“Sir, what makes this? We saw that Thing melt the
aero. We felt the awful heat. And now it is so cold — -
frost forms on the wreckage. I — I cannot understand
how it can be, yet it is just as I saw it before, at the
city.” He shuddered at the memory of that scene.
"I am beginning to understand much of the nature of
this Thing, Hektor,” I replied. “Perhaps if we can
reach the fortress again, I can devise a weapon or a bet-
ter defense. It hurls energy, pure energy drawn from
itself, into whatever it attacks, causing it to disrupt and
fuse under the strain and sudden release of heat. Then,
when it is all over, it sucks back the energy out of the
molten mass, its’ own energy and the energy of the
thing it destroyed, leaving it absolutely heatless. I
think, Hektor, that were that fused metal not too aw-
fully cold to touch, even the smallest bit would tax our
strength to lift. Its particles are packed very closely,
closer than in anything natural that we may find. Does
not that mass of metal seem small, to have been an aero,
and does it not seem unnaturally smooth and dense?
Were we to remain here, it would expand almost visibly
as heat came into it from the air and gave its particles
energy of motion, kinetic energy. But it is too cold
to remain here, and the convection currents will bring
on a storm such as you saw in the cavern of the first
city, a storm the like of which these jungles have never
seen. Have you any idea as to where the fortress
lies?”
“None, Sir. The compass was in the other part of
the control cabin.”
“Then we must search as best we can for the edge
of this forest, where we can see the mountains. There
will be the swamp to cross, though, unless they search
for us with an aero. Come, we are doing no good here,
and the Thing may return.”
For days on end we struggled through that putrid
tangle that was the ages-old floor of the fungus forest,
while overhead the pale clouds were tossed and torn by
the great winds that raged through the thin air, limited
only by that thinness, while great fungi toppled and fell
about us with a horrid liquid crushing of massive fleshy
growths, adding to the deep mat of decayed matter that
covered the ground. Rivers of cold air followed the
contour of the fungus jungle, blighting the huge bul-
bous things as they flowed through the hollows. But
the storm was brief in duration, the half-buried mass
taking up heat very quickly from the rotting mould,
though not as fast as the fortress, with its far greater sur-
face. Then, at last, after many days of blind stumbling
through that nightmare wilderness, suffering from the
thin air until our burning lungs adapted themselves to
their task, the fungi grew smaller, thinned, and vanished
entirely, leaving us on the edge of a great smooth cup of
glassy, black basalt that sloped steeply down for nearly
half a mile, and curved out in a mighty oval bowl five
miles across.
In it lay the Crimson City of the vapor creatures.
Built entirely of crimson marble, with an underlying
tinge of deep scarlet, it lay like a blazing coal in the
heart of the black bowl. Its architecture was very evi-
dently patterned after the fungi that swarmed about it.
Squat, bulging shapes massed about huge towering
shafts — spherical dome on slender column, spiraling
flame-tongue, thick-stemmed hooded parasol — all the
myriad shapes of the fungi, adapted to suit habitation
and carved entirely from the crimson marble. At the
edges, the buildings were low and spravding, and as the
center was reached, they rose into a thrusting twisted
maze of crimson forms, shooting up in a nightmare
wilderness in perfect monochrome mimicry of the mon-
strous jungle behind us, clustering about some central
horror that was hidden from us. And everywhere be-
tween the smooth red walls flowed dense black shapes
of mist, drifting slowly and flowing in viscid haste from
opening to black opening that flecked the crimson shafts.
Above the silence, from somewhere in the city’s heart,
rose a fine thin keening, at the very peak of the ability to
hear, as of a taut wire whining in the gale. It was a
tense, unpleasant sound that made me shudder involun-
tarify, sending little icy chills up and down my spine, and
I saw Hektor grit his teeth suddenly and fiercely at the
sound. Yet there was damnable fascination in it, and
in the city with its tangled inferno of crimson stone, and
we stood gazing at it, regardless of the danger of our
position.
W E suspected nothing, until the reflection of the
city in the polished rock at our feet suddenly
vanished, and a darting arm of black vapor rose to
blot out the crimson vision, then dropped about us. At
326
AMAZING STORIES
once we knew that these invisible things were not of any
ordinary vapor, for through such we might have
ploughed with ease to the shelter of the fungi. This
black stuff was as dense as it looked, and denser by
far, for we battered at its closing wall as at rock. Yet
it had not the feeling of rock, to the touch, for there was
a yielding to it, almost as of flesh, and a subtle energy
that made me tingle from head to foot. Strange stuff
indeed, a definite physical barrier, yet for all its firm-
ness a vapor, whose outer edges were tossed by the
winds that still stirred. Frankly, it was beyond all my
understanding of the properties of matter. Certain it
was that such a property must needs be governed by con-
scious control, like a flexing of our own muscles, yet it
should have been utterly impossible in a vapor. My
mind refused to grasp its actuality.
Now the vapor swirled above and beneath us, and the
solid ground dropped out from under our feet. There
was a moment’s sickening drop into emptiness, then a
long smooth glide, constantly accelerating, and a series of
complex motions that we were unable to interpret. One
thing gave us a clue, trapped as we were in the heart of
the vapor thing. The piercing Avail from the crimson
city swelled into nerve-shattering shrillness, rising slight-
ly in pitch as Ave sped faster, then seemed to loose its di-
rection and pureness of pitch, telling us that Ave Avere
noAV in the city itself, speeding between those echoing
crimson Avails.
And now the thing thickened beneath our feet, and
we were shoved up and out, through a widening gap,
into the light, out on the top of the great cloud of vapor,
encircled to the Avaist Avith its binding coils. We Avere
driving straight into that tumbled labyrinth of crimson
fantasy that Avas the heart of the city. Through the
twisting corridors, pouring from narrorv slot-like open-
ings, converging on our creature and joining themselves
to it, came hoards of the vapor things, great and small,
wisp and cloud, merging in one great body, one enormous
Thing, carrying us Zeus knew AA'hither, for some great,
unknoAvn purpose that required its presence as an inte-
grated entity, a race of one Thing, yet of numberless
parts.
The distorted crimson walls clustered closer, denser,
merging into a great oval central mass of rose-pink, a
narrow black slit high in its side. And Ave Avere being
lifted high on a column of black mist, racing at breath-
taking speed straight for that single visible opening, then
hurtling through and down into the light again, the body
of the mist sweeping after us.
We were in a mighty boAvl of purest white, blending
to a rose-flush at the towering edges. Up from its very
center stabbed a flickering shaft of vivid blue light, and *
from it shrieked the Availing, shattering at our ears in-
cessantly, filling all the great boAvl Avith its horrid din.
A misty arm shot forth from the body of cloud that bore
us, and caressed a squat black block, set with little red
cups, that lay beside the gaping pit from which the shaft
sprung. The shriek rose to a crescendo and vanished, and
in the folds of my clothing I felt a crystal lens shatter to
bits. And then Ave were set down beside the Ioav black
railing that barred us from the blue shaft, while all about,
bathing the snowy Avails of the cup with their inky flood,
were the mist folk, circling us completely, barring all
escape save the pit. As in answer to my thought, an arm
of vapor shot forth from the edge of the black mass,
wrenched the slender pack from Hektor’s back, and
flicked it into the shaft of blue light. It vanished into
a golden haze, that became merely a local deepening of
the blue, then diffused and disappeared. ThereAvas no
escape there!
What followed I have never precisely understood — -
how the vapor creatures were able physically to suck in-
formation — thoughts — from our brains. But the fact
remains. Out of that murky cloud, visible only by the
dead black contrast of its boundaries, sprang two thin
coils of mist that settled rigidly over our heads, capping
them with clinging black fog, closing about our brains.
They had not the cold, damp feeling of fog, or of most
of the ordinary vapors, but almost a bodily warmth,
filled Avith pure energy. I felt as nev'er before the alive-
ness of these folk of black mist.
Through the snug contact of the caps, I could feel a
rhythmic unease flowing through all that great mass,
stirring it in slow uncertain Avaves that gained strength
and purpose as time passed, felt what I could not see.
Then came the A'oice of the creatures, how produced I
know not, but a true voice of communication and ex-
pression entirely apart from the unity of thought con-
tact that was in their strange mingling. It was a low,
deep-throated crooning, floating up as at a great distance,
Avith something of a forlorn Avail in its fathomless depth.
At first, like busy insects in the gardens of Thula it
came, tentative and dreamy, then with the purpose and
unison of the swarming hive, swelling in volume and
meaning far beyond all human powers of comparison,
lifting in long surging billoAvs of sound that lulled like
the listless swell of the sea in calm. We were comfort-
able, droAvsy, Avrapped snugly in the warm blankets of
the mist, soothed by the rolling drone of music that
flooded about us, lulling and lulling. Sleep was good,
after all the labor of the past, and I felt my senses numb-
ing slowly, deadening, my will slipping lazily into slum-
ber. But someAvhere, as a bright clear flame in the
dreaming sea of blackness, conscious aAvareness burned
in my brain. Ev T en as my muscles sagged in unconscious-
ness, it blazed bright, almost as a second external self.
And in it. or Avith it, I felt the cunning draining of my
mind, the sapping of my knoAvledge, sucked out into
that great body of black life, every fact, every thought
and nervous impression of my life flowing eagerly into
that relentless maw. And I knew that the hidden fort-
ress was doomed !
I do not knoAV hoAV long I lay senseless, part of the
Things. I came again to life in a small unbroken sphere
of crimson rock, A'entilated, lighted I know not hoAV.
In my brain lingered the mocking echo of the crooning
of the mist people, and with it an emptiness, a lightness,
a feeling of expansion, and I remembered the sucking of
the vampire Things. I must still have been of them, in
part, for as I gazed betvildered about me, a portion of
the wall receded and disappeared, showing a vaulted,
well-lit passage Avithout. Weakly I craAvled through the
narroAV opening, and started sloAvly doAvn the corridor
toward the faint gleam of day at its end. Smooth and
oval it ran, straight to a great railed balcony jutting out
over the city. Rooms there must have been, cells like
mine, but as mine their doors were invisible.
L EANING wearily against the broad rail AA r as a fa-
miliar figure — Hektor. Younger than I, his mind
probably less strained by the dratving forth of its
smaller store, he had recovered sooner. With a word he
CLEON OF YZDRAL
327
greeted me, then turned to gaze again out over the
tangled chaos of spires and rounded roof-tops that
marked the upper levels of the city. The screaming of
the blue shaft had begun again, dinning in our ears
from somewhere beyond our own building, while oc-
casionally a muffled booming rose from the narrow
gorges of the streets, where vocally conversing vapor-
creatures drifted to and fro. For a long time Hektor
was silent, then, without turning, he spoke.
“Cleon — Sir — you have seen more of this world than
I, understand better its laws and possibilities. I have
thought often, before, of the life that is in us, of what
forms it might assume, but never did I imagine this.
This — these things are alien to me, impossible. How can
life be like this? Where is its analogy in our outer
world? Oh, Cleon, I am afraid — of what, I cannot
tell, but deathly afraid ! When I felt them draining me
of my thoughts, there in the arena, I was afraid that I
would never regain them, never awake, to this universe
at least. I have a queer feeling, here in the back of my
brain, that we are dim to them, unreal, fearful menaces,
perhaps. I think that they are keyed higher than we —
that their droning is communication by touch rather than
by sound, that that cursed wailing is but a gentle murmur
to them, even below the range of hearing, except when
it rises beyond our own. Perhaps they are not entirely
as we see them, vapor creatures, but truly firm and solid
in some other plane. And yet — their life must be
strange, conflicting, for they are aware of our world,
their buildings are of it. I — it is beyond me. There is
truth in what I say, I feel it, somehow, and yet — there
are lies, cunning lies to trap us! It — my mind — tells
me so.”
And I replied :
“It may well be as you say, Hektor, I do not know.
But to me there is nothing impossible or without analogy
in them. To me, Hektor, they are much as we.
They are vapor, true, and an unnatural vapor, but I
think they belong to this world more than to any other.
Fundamentally there is the same backing of natural
laws, though the application may be different. How do
we establish contact with our world, and apply our
science? Do we not draw energy from our own bodies
to battle against man and nature? Do we not use pure
energy, change it from form to form — matter, light,
heat, work — put it into the planet from which we draw
it again in food and power, to replenish and augment
our store? We are not very efficient in our processes,
and so we die, but these creatures need no bypaths and
bridges in their cycle of energy. You saw that quality
in their destruction of the aero — how they changed the
energy of their bodies into the flame that fused the
metal instantly, then drew it back, and more with it,
to keep life in themselves. Where, fundamentally, is
the difference?
“And then, their curious oneness, their seeming ability
to act individually or as one unified entity, never quite
one or the other, but always bound together by some tie
which we do not understand. Are we not the same?
Think of us men, each working for self and for race
alike, living, thinking, acting alone or all too often in
mobs, welded together by a single cause, a single
thought, into unified action. Have you never seen a
great mob, flowing like a mighty wave of humanity, re-
lentlessly to their single purpose, its single purpose,
thinking and acting as one being ? I have seen men flow
thus, as a mighty flooding wave in liquid — or in vapor.
Is there so great a difference?
“Even their existence in vapor I can understand,
dimly; can find analogy in ourselves. To me, solid life
would be harder to understand than yielding, plastic
vapor. You have never seen truly solid life, Hektor,
nor has any man. What of our own bodies, the bodies
of the other beasts of our outer world? Are they not
built up of myriad tiny cells, tiny unit lives, liquid lives ?
We are liquid, Hektor, made firm and purposeful by
the unity of life. These creatures about us are vapor, as
we are liquid, and their unity must be greater than ours,
as must be their power, their controlling mental strength
that makes them what they are.
“No, Hektor, there is not such a great gap between
us and them. Everywhere that life is found, there are
its basic factors, the fundamentals that identify it — con-
trolled transformation of energy, the ability of conscious
unification, and motion to a purpose. All things, all
evolution from lower form, all progress of great races
hinge on these. Perhaps all hinge upon the first, though
my mind asks for more than that alone. Many say that
life is but an automatic behavior resulting from natural
laws, blind and helplessly mechanical. Do not these laws
of nature outline a Purpose toward which all life
moves? Many say that evolution follows accidental
paths toward degeneration or monstrosity, but was there
not a purpose in that motion from a simple to a complex
existence, futile though the result may be? Many, very
many, say, that because of Man’s machines and his
science he shall sink back into oblivion, die the death of
a race. But do not his machines make more efficient his
control of energy, enlarge his store limitlessly, enable
him to mould the universe into a likeness of the Purpose
that includes all things? There are differences, Hektor,
differences that make many men deny life for what it is.
We are not as an amoeba, nor as a sea-worm, nor a
flower. These vapor folk are not as we. But, to my
mind, the difference is a simple one. All things differ
in life. We are more alive, far more alive than the
bacillus or the worm. And these vapor creatures are
more alive than we. Any race, any entity that is able to
fulfill the three bases of life, is able to control the energy
of the world about him, and unify, and move steadily
toward the Purpose that lies behind everything, and
who can do these more intelligently, more efficiently
than we, must be more alive than we!
“Zeus, Poseidon, Bel* — whatever you may call Him
who has formed the Purpose and written the Equation
of Space and Time, has made sure that so long as life
shall be, so shall progress exist. We are part of that
Equation, governing it and governed by it, our path pre-
destined yet flexible to our every will. Some day, per-
haps after eternity, beyond infinity, a race will grasp that
Purpose in its entirety, see the great Equation in its full.
Man will not, but Man will have shortened the road by
many an endless age. Near the top, the way grows
rougher, steeper, and race after race must live and pour
its life into another race, and pass away, not dead, but
absorbed into living. When two paths conflict, one
must give way, as we are giving way to these Things,
these vapor creatures. There must be conflict, for-
ever, but we must know it for what it is, an attempt to
put away inefficiency and disunion, by whatever sordid
*A Babylonian deity, god of the earth. He was in a triad with Amri, god
of the heavens, and Ea, god of the waters.
328
AMAZING STORIES
name we call it or by whatever cruel method we ac-
complish it, and to rise like the bird of Quetzal* above
the ashes of the past. Men will fight men, until Man
must fight another race and rise on its ashes. But in
fighting, men may defeat that ultimate, hidden urge, and
to a degree die, sink beneath their peak for long ages,
perhaps forever, while a lesser race takes their place and
climbs unaided to new heights that might have been theirs.
“But this is dreaming — preaching! I cannot explain
what I feel, cannot feel all that is there. In a way, it is
written on Space and Time ; in a way, it is for Man to
write it. These Things are higher than we, but we must
strive against them, and if we win we shall rise higher
than they in ages to come!”
“A little I see, O Cleon,” said Hektor, “but much is
clouded, unclear. You are older than I, though my
years are no longer my age, and your vision may be
broader. The Equation I can almost grasp — its pres-
ence and nature, but not its meaning. And yet — ah, well,
come! I know the way to the streets. We are free in
this city, but unable to leave it. Eet us try to under-
stand more of this queer race, and how it may be de-
feated. Come.”
As Hektor said, the city was open to us. Mentally -we
were en rapport with the things, and doors were not
barred to us. We found little that we could compre-
hend. Life was not as we knew it, understood it. The
red buildings were there, riddled with curious cells and
corridors, but we could not tell their significance in this
vapor world, whether home, or shelter, or — what. The
vapor things ignored us, flowed silently around us in
ugly torrents, as if we were rocks in the path. One bit
of machinery we found, one tangible thing that could be
studied and understood in part — the pit in the arena,
which we named the Pit of Blue Sound.
Out of that great railed pit vomited a mighty beam
of sound, waves of enormous frequency that battered at
matter and tore it into its component atoms. In the
white arena, the thin air above it was ripped asunder,
energized until it gave off the blue light of the beam.
Beside the pit lay the only mechanical device that we
found in all the Crimson City — a plate of crystal vi-
brated by electrical energy, as we have done in the
laboratories of Thula, setting up a wave of sound in it-
self destructive to life, and far beyond the range of the
senses. By interference, the two waves merged into
one, heterodyned as some would say, giving a lower note,
the high thin wail of the blue shaft. This we discovered
by experiment and by reasoning, but the source of the
Blue Sound, somewhere far below the city, we could not
imagine. Physical phenomenon, production of the
vapor-things of something higher still than they — I
shall never know which. We of Thula know only its
nature, its resulting phenomena, and no more. Hektor —
but Hektor cannot tell. Perhaps, as we thought by reason
of its location, it was the deity of the things, or else
their place of execution, if such could exist in such a
race, but all was mere conjecture. And yet I think it
was not entirely of these, but still more, even as the sap-
phire wonder of the Singing Ones. But I must go on.
H EKTOR, of late, often explored without me, delv-
ing down in the dark corridors beneath the city.
Then, one day, he returned pale and strangely silent,
*The Quetzal was a bird, considered a deity or symbol of a deity by
the Aztecs and Mayas. It is the national emblem of Guatemala, as the
eagle is of the United States, or the lion of England.
with fear and guilt in his suddenly aged eyes. He re-
fused to go out again, seemed to shun the open, where
he might see and be seen by the vapor people. He
would not speak to me of what he had seen, but once,
as he muttered in his infrequent, uneasy sleep, I caught
a few disjointed words that made me wonder and fear
likewise. He mouthed the words hoarsly, and whispered
cunningly to himself, his open eyes fixed on emptiness.
"The glory — the glory — ah, the white glory of light ! I
have seen it — seen it ! — They do not know ! They will
not know, not for many days ! — Hard. Hard, but brit-
tle ! Oh yes, very brittle — But they do not know ! They
must not ! They will kill us ! We must escape ! — But
we cannot, not from them. — Oh, I was mad, mad to fear,
to strike, but I did not know, I thought it was as they
are, soft and yielding, not brittle ! — The glory ! Ah,
Zeus, I am afraid, afraid !”
-He had found something wonderful, apparently, some-
where in the bowels of the city, something beautiful but
fearful, and in mad terror had struck blindly, had
smashed it. It was something of awful importance,
something whose destruction meant our death as soon as
it should be discovered — a god, perhaps, or something-
akin. And I was afraid, with Hektor, and waited for the
day when they must discover his deed, and sweep in a
thick cloud of fury toward us.
It came, a day of double horror to me. Again we were
borne to the arena, again the white walls flowed black
vapor, again close-fitting caps of mist enclosed our
throbbing brains. But this time thoughts came to me,
pictures, and I understood that for all this time these
creatures of mist had been resting, feeding, storing up
energy for the great final destruction.
I saw the narrow defile through the black cliffs, clouds
of inky vapor billowing against the barrier of blue. I
saw the spheres of flame form, saw the barrier flicker
and fade, and the towers of safety fuse and flow. Then
the army of the Things had poured out over the plain,
circling the single frail wall of blue fire, trying it, seek-
ing out its weakest spot with devilish cunning. They
did not fear it, for energy is but food to their kind, but
food in sudden excess is unsafe. The fort lay silent be-
hind its girdle of white, against which the black flow
of the hordes showed clearly. And now, hovering above
the blasted rock of the defile, I saw an aero, one of our
old aeros of Yzdral! The upper -world had come to our
rescue !
For a single instant my heart leaped wildly with joy,
then sank in disgust and" hate. For they of the aero
were cowards, craven! Some new, powerful weapon
they must have, else they had not come in so small an
aero. It lay in their power to save us, save their own
kin, men of their race, from the awful death of the
vapor things ! And they slunk in safety beyond the rim
of the plain, fearing to risk their precious lives for
others, afraid to trust in the judgment of those men of
wisdom who had armed and sent them forth to conquer !
Cowards all, unfit to bear the banner of Poseidon ! t
My mind turned in aversion, turned to the fortress,
where a great sphere of opalescence was forming, send-
ing forth little streamers of rose flame that melted into
the blue barrier, and beat it down in a torrent of ming-
ling, fusing fire. Over the helpless city poured the hosts
of the Things, fusing it to a smoking mass of slag, then
sucking forth its energy until it glistened white with
frost. And now, with savage gladness in my heart, I saw
CLEON OF YZDRAL
329
the craven aero flee in sudden terror out across the
swamp, the black mists swirling after !
Of a sudden the picture was blotted out, and angrily
the mist folk tore at my mind. Into my brain flashed
the truths In victory they had sought that which Hektor
had destroyed, had found it dead and shattered, had
come to avenge ! On the instant I was jerked high,
Hektor beside me. Before me the mist bulked high,
began to spin and thicken in the form of a great sphere.
I felt the tearing at our senses, the plucking at out-
brains, the tensing of the vibrant atmosphere, and then
the ball of flame burst forth in our very faces, not
opalescent as before, but angry red, shot with little dazzl-
ing corruscations of electric blue. Nearly within the
reach of my arm it hung, towering above us, a living
ball of glorious flame, yet heatless, and pulsing with con-
suming hate and evil. From it leapt tiny ribbons of
flame, narrow blue tentacles that streamed past me to
where Hektor hung whimpering, and plucked him from
his place. As he was hurled past me into the heart of
the sphere, I could see his body alive with leaping, crack-
ling blue fire, bathing him and sinking into him. Then
he was gone, and the great sphere burst into blinding
white light, as the angry drone of the vapor things rose
to a frenzied crescendo. And then he was spewed forth,
strangely rigid, into my grasp, as a man dead, yet filled
with the hellish life of the Things.
The sphere was forming again, swiftly, the little blue
streamers leaping from its whirling surface, then darting
toward me. But even as they swept over me, the vibrant
energy of them thrilling and surging in me, there came a
rushing roar of mighty winds, and I was hurled high
above the great bowl by the force of the tempest and
borne along on the wings of the wind, Hektor clutched
in my arms, the sphere of flame gone forever. For an
instant I saw, advancing swiftly through the broken for-
est of fungi, a great wall of pale white water, dimly
luminous, bearing down with awful speed upon the
Crimson City ! The sea had broken through the moun-
tains ! Then I was hurtling above the lashing jungle,
all about me torn wisps of scudding black showing dim
against the riddled clouds, borne by the terrible fury of
the winds. My breath was sucked from my striving
lungs by the tempest, and all the world dissolved in
flame-shot blackness.
I woke in a welter of whipping waters, borne like a
bit of drift from crest to trough, Hektor still lying rigid
in my locked grip. A black hulk was silhouetted against
the clouds, then rushed down upon us — one of the great
living trees of the swamp. Vainly my weakened hands
scrabbled at the leathery smoothness of the huge trunk,
then, as it seemed about to plunge over me and beat me
down into the pale water, my clawing fingers sank into
one of the many great sores eaten by fungi into the
otherwise unbroken trunk, sank deep and clung desper-
ately. Slowly I began to raise Hektor, to lay his stiff
body across the broad trunk of the tree and follow him
to safety. And after an age it was done, and I sank
again into sleep.
The waters were still when I awoke, rising and fall-
ing in long uneasy swells. Hektor lay beside me, motion-
less, his body set as in death, yet I could see the faint
pulse of veins in his temple and hear the slow hiss of
breath through clenched teeth. About us the milky sea
ran endlessly away beneath the scudding clouds. The
black crags were lost in distance, now, and beneath these
troubled waters lay the drowned jungles of that un-
known land beyond the Crimson City. The great tree on
which we lay, too, was different from those that we
had seen before. The slatey trunk and leathery skin-
like bark were the same, but its tentacles were slenderer,
more ribbon-like, and fitted with meshed clusters of
filaments, like little nets, about the edge of the crimson
sucking-cups. This tree must have fed in water that
was flowing, bearing food into the net that it set. Its
roots bore this out. They were stouter and less flexible
than those of the swamp trees. Somewhere, then, the
swamp must have an outlet, but where ? Were we being
borne into the chasm of this buried world?
For untold time we drifted, and it seemed to my
troubled mind that the current had a definite set, that w-e
were being carried to a certain death. And through all
those fear-filled hours Hektor lay stiff and motionless
beside me. Then, far before us appeared a low-slung
mass, speeding in our direction, against the current!
With every hour of pressing time it drew nearer, and I
could see a great monster’s head rising from a dully
gleaming body, with flailing limbs on either side — a
dragon of the sea ! But even as I drew my sword, I
saw a second figure standing where the neck of the mon-
ster joined its half-submerged body — a human figure,
clad in glittering metal scales, with golden hair stream-
ing free beneath a winged helm, and I knew him for
what he was— a man of Thule !
C ENTURIES ago, in the days of the First Planet,
Thule and Atlantis shared the world, island At-
lantis and Thule' of the many gates — a mountain land,
with myriad narrow arms of the sea breaking the pre-
cipitous coastline. From an ancient root, older than
Man, comes the words that name them — Thula, city of
the many portals ; Thule, land of the many fjords. It
was a northern land, where the sun often hung low above
the grey sea for long week after week, and mountains
of ice swept down the sea lanes from the pole — a hard
land and the land of a hard race. For the men of Thule
were savage, warriors all, and in their dragon ships,
patterned after beasts of legend that no man now remem-
bers, they swept the seas to the southward, bringing
death and destruction with them. Upon Atlantis they
fell, but the cunning of that race that had conquered Mu
of the emerald isles and the barren uplands of the Yellow
Ones was too great for their valor, and they fell before
us. But the fathers of Atlantis were born old, and in
their wisdom they forgave the bold men of the north
and made them allies. We gave them of our culture,
such as they could understand, and from the squalid
savages rose a race of god-men — giants all, with flowing
hair and beard of spun gold, and eyes keen and blue
as good steel. When Thula came to the Second Planet,
many were with us, and when the Overlords drove forth
the degenerate people, the men of Thule went also, of
their own -will and purpose — no man knew whither, save
perhaps that Quetzal who led the way.
The dragon ship rushed down upon us, and with a
straining of oars hung still, like a falcon poised. Strong
arms dragged us over the low gunwales, great hands,
warriors’ hands, gave me food and drink, and strove to
force it upon Hektor, but in vain. And as we sped
through the cresting sea, he who was their leader, Thor-
vald Nilsson told me the history of the men of Thule,
after they left the upper world.
330
AMAZING STORIES
They had gone with Quetzalcoatl and his followers
into the caverns where the race settled, but unlike them
went onward and downward, to a narrow land beyond
the white sea of the Underworld — a fertile land, lit by an
everflowing river of molten rock, where real trees grew,
and flowers, with beasts that their fathers had fought
in the north of Thule in days long gone. And here they
lived and launched their dragon ships in the strange
white sea that lapped upon their bouldered beaches.
In a single great fjord the pale-lit waters ran past
the walls of rock that barred their pleasant land from the
weird world of the Things. Long since they had found
this unnatural land, and the black Things, and with them
another race, of which he spoke but- vaguely, the Singing
Ones. They avoided these shores, but when the sea
rushed down upon the Underworld, they were drawn
into the mad maelstrom and spewed out upon the silent
waters that hid the swamps and the Crimson City.
“I have seen such as he, before, O man of Yzdral,”
he said, “and some the Singing Ones have made whole
again, but sometimes even they have failed. I think it
will be wise to seek them, for if it be as ye have said,
that this man has unveiled the secret of the Black Ones,
such as remain will seek ye out for vengeance, and with
the Singing Ones we will be safe. There is danger of
the chasm, with this flood pouring through the gate, but
we of Thule have never yet feared danger, nor ever will,
and it comes to me that ye are not one to flinch.”
And now we put about and ran with the current, save
faster, for a long time, how long I cannot say, for our
chronoscopes were gone and there was no night here.
Even as Thorvald, I took my turn at the oars, strength-
ening my sickened muscles, or engaged in sword-play on
the short forward deck, with the shouts of the rowers
in my ears above the hiss of the waves and the oars. And
always Hektor lay as dead, breathing slowly, his pulse a
mere flicker, yet needless of food or drink, so great was
the energy that the sphere of the Things had poured into
him.
To north and south the mountains had appeared,
drawing in from the low horizon in a great funnel into
which the rushing waters poured. Now we had no need
of oars, for the leaping waves bore us on with awful
speed, the wind whipping our beards and hair and scream-
ing in our ears. The oarsmen were resting, building
strength for their final great struggle with the sea. Now
the walls of black were narrowing faster, drawing to-
gether to form a great river of wanly flaming water,
whose shores rose steep to the drooping clouds. At first
miles in width, the rushing torrent swept down into a
narrow channel bitten deep in the rock, barely a hundred
feet across, in which the white waves leaped and boiled
as in a cauldron, dashing high against the smooth-cut
walls. Still no man took to the oars, except to save us
from crashing into the walls, but as time passed I
sensed a tensing, an awaiting for some last struggle for
life or death. Above the howl of the wind in the
gorge, and the lashing roar of angry water, rose a new
sound, a drumming thunder, far distant and muffled by
the echoing cliffs. And now Thorvald rose from his
seat, where he had been idly gaming with dice, left hand
against right, and strode to the guiding oar. As silently
each man took his seat, and rubbed into his palms the
rosin that assured his grip on the oars. The great oars
rose, and swung forward, lying against the hull, ready
to plunge and strike. At a sign from Thorvald I drag-
ged Hektor to a spot just under the sweeping dragon’s *
neck, and lashed him there 'with leather thongs, then
joined the chieftain at the steering oar.
The drumming rose louder now, drowning out all else
in its thunderous roar. Thorvald raised to his lips the
great brazen horn of chieftainship, and gazed down
the mist-filled gorge, waiting. And now, through the
luminous spray, I saw that two mighty peaks jutted out
from either wall, between them a boat’s length of space
through which the raging waters surged and battled,
rising high, then leaping out, out and down into nothing-
ness. Through the curtain of water, the twin crags
loomed bare and smooth from the torrent’s edge, the left
jet black, the right — it seemed — a flaming gold. Then
the great horn blared forth its message, the oars struck
deep, and for an instant we hung checked in our mad
course, held by the straining oars, then swept on with
the flood. Again and again they plunged, each mighty
blow bringing us up as against a yielding wall, each
time hurtling on as before. And now we thrust with all
our weight at the great helm, driving it slowly against
the leaping stream. Now with each giant beat of the
oars, I could see the rushing wall to the right creep
closer and ever closer. The oars beat faster now, in
perfect rhythm, and the struggling helm battered fiercely
at our strength. Now I could hear above the tumult of
waters a chant of human voices, raised in a song of
battle, and I joined my voice to theirs in the stirring
anthem of Yzdral.
Before us the bounding waves climbed up and up, a
hundred feet or more above our heads, battering at the
crevice that overhung the great abyss. Great waves
broke over us, not salt, but sickly sweet and filled with
a fungoid savor, beating at us in great masses of leap-
ing white fire that swooped down from the tossing
clouds. And still the oars struck firm and sure, and
the helm crept slowly to the right. Fiery darts of pain
shot through my straining muscles, and I saw Thor-
vald’s teeth gripped in his lower lip, blood streaming into
his matted beard. And now the cauldron fell away be-
neath, and the dragon ship hung high above the abyss
into which the waters thundered, down and out and
down again into the endless depths where pale-lit mists
swirled slowly with dreamy lethargy. For an instant
we poised there, an eternal instant of reminiscence and
despair in which all the forgotten faces of childhood
spun before me in a slow, dead whirl. Then like a gyr-
falcon we swooped through empty air, down and down
into sudden silence, the howling waters but a lost mur-
mur in the distance, lulling, lulling our tired muscles into
sleep. No longer did we plunge madly through the blaz-
ing waves, but rocked in a gentle swell, a soft blue light
seeping through the perfumed air about us— surely the
Paradise of death. Thorvald beside me, I drifted off
into velvet darkness.
I WOKE to the gentle grip of Thorvald’s hand. The
oarsmen were gone, and he stood silhouetted against
a soft blue luminescence that played in little dancing
wavelets from the ceiling of the great cave in which
we floated. Now I realized the truth of what had hap-
pened. The mountain on the right was hollow, and in
the very center of the narrow gap, through which the
waters leaped, opened the arched gateway into which
*The old vikings of Scandinavia called their warships dragons. They
often had a dragon’s head on the bow.
CLEON OF YZDRAL
331
we had passed with that final thrust of oars, down into
the calm, slowly eddying lagoon beneath the mountain.
Ordinarily, when the river merely drained the stagnant
swamp, it must be difficult enough to enter, but now,
with a sea pouring through that cranny between the
peaks, it was by little short of superhuman skill and
strength that these men of Thule had won us through.
We lay beside a smooth black pier, jutting from the
wall of the cave. The cave itself was low-roofed and
broad, stretching out into the blue haze on either side.
Here a great niche had been cut into the wall, fronted
with pillars that glowed with little inlaid twinings of soft
gold. From it opened many corridors, running off into
the mountain, and a broad stair, rising into the peak
above us. It was lit by the blue light, and rose easily
in lazy spirals through the black rock of the peak. All
along the walls ran the delicate golden inlay, much like
the fretting of the ventilators of our upper world, but
more gentle and beautiful, patterned after the twining
vines and tendrils of some unknown vegetation. Up
this we strode, bearing Hektor between us, Thorvald
seemingly familiar with the way. Glancing down at the
steps, I could see that they were worn, and the edges
rounded by much use during long ages. What people
had carved this stronghold in the heart of the mountain?
[Who were the Singing Ones?
The peak was conical, and as we rose the stair drew
near the outer wall and the roar of the fall sounded far
below. At last came a landing and a niche in the wall,
a little alcove from which we might see the river far
beneath us. Up from the leaping flood rose the black
cliff, sloping inward in mirror image of that which
loomed opposite. And above and about us, rising in ter-
raced levels, clung the Golden City of the Singing Ones.
In level after level of blunt-topped golden towers the
city rose above us, circling the cone of the peak. Smooth
from the crag the outer wall would rise, to a series of
little steps, in reality broad terraces, dwarfed by dis-
tance, then up again in a slender golden block to a blunt,
terraced summit. Balconied windows opened from the
smooth, golden wall, looking out over the river and the
abyss into which it plunged, feathering into luminous
mist that drifted up through the thin air to the low-hang-
ing clouds that clung about the summit of the peak. On
the terraces, and in the broad ways between the ranks
of buildings grew trees and flowers, climbing in per-
fumed profusion over the golden fretting of the inner
walls. And like a halo over the city clung the blue light,
illuminating everything with its soft azure. What man-
ner of men could these Singing Ones be, to raise such
a city on the crag, and make trees and flowers bloom in
this unhealthy Underworld ?
Now, as we climbed higher, I heard a music flooding
from above, a music as of organ notes, deep and brood-
ing, spangled with merry piping and silvery tinkling of
little bells. Then the stair turned suddenly and stopped,
and I followed Thorvald out upon a high dais of gold,
bearing Hektor.
Before me, the golden amphitheater was filled with
light, light such as I had never seen. It lay on the
border line between light and mist, both and yet neither.
It was of a rose-hue, a faintly flushed pink, with little
veinings of scintillant silver. In a great motionless flood
it lay in the bowl of the amphitheater, pulsing dreamily.
Through it ran tiny filaments of clotted coral flame,
glittering mischievously through the soft glow, darting
and twisting through the surge of rose-light. The glow
of it lit up all the golden temple with rosy glory, brighter
and softer than the green light of the upper world.
For an instant I thought of the snowy bowl of the
vapor things, but this was different. Here was not
clinging, creeping vapor, dank, black fog, that clogged
the senses with loathing and bound the muscles with in-
visible resistance. This light was free, clean, beautiful,
vibrant with pure life, whetting the senses and cleansing
the mind of the ugly darknesses that lurk in its hidden
corners. And now, as the deep organ note throbbed
behind me, and the bowl of light rippled in thrilling
answer, trilling piping and little elfish bugle notes, fairy
fiddling and little silvery carillon, I knew that the Sing-
ing Ones lay before me, and I thought of the words of
him to whom I had gone, a child, for vengeance upon
the black Things of the Undenvorld.
“Cleon, if your judgment falters in the future which
must come, heed my advice. Place your trust in that
which you see as wholly beautiful.”
And in the Singing Ones I found beauty, though I had
come to hate and fear all creatures of the mist by reason
of the Black Things. In these there was a purity, a
clean virulent airiness that reassured me, though of
necessity they must be fundamentally of the stuff of
the mist folk, living, moving as they, perhaps sprung
from the same hidden root. I stepped to the brink of
the dais, and laid Hektor in the glowdng flood of light
that lapped at its brink. Slowly he sank into the rosy
depths where the little threads of silver were clustering
in a scintillant net that dropped softly about him, hiding
him from my sight. Thorvald’s hand was on my arm,
his voice in my ear, and in obedience I also let myself
drop into the pool of light and drift down through the
silent depths. Weariness and the fatigue of strained
muscles faded away, leaving peace and dreamy languor.
I was purged of the horror I had seen and felt, made
new and clean by the fingers of light that were gently
wafted through my brain. And with Thorvald at my
side, I drifted dreamily to where the little filaments
of coral flame were grouping, dancing, beckoning
eagerly. They surged up about me, folded over my
head in a living net of flame, and through my body ran
a leaping fire of vibrant energy, renovating me, charging
me with life and joy and health, such as I had not felt
for many years. Here was the alliance that made gods
of the warriors of Thule!
Out on the golden dais we were laid, Thorvald and I,
while from the bowl of light came a sad murmur of
ethereal music, regretful, apologetic. Up from the pool
swam the globe of silver threadings, up to our very feet.
It opened, like a great bud unfolding, and there as in a
cradle nestled Hektor, sleeping. He stirred, and woke,
but in his eyes w 7 as not that which I sought. Conscious-
ness was his, now, and the will to live, but not in our
world. He moved and saw and felt in some higher
plane, in the plane of the Black Things.
Thorvald spoke. “Do not despair, O Cleon. He was
far gone. I feared it would be thus — I have seen men so
before, after the flame-kiss of the Black Ones. He lives,
as we, but in their world. There is yet a hope, Cleon.
I have seen it— once — applied only in direst extreme. If
it should succeed, he would be ever such as you see him
now, but of these Singing Ones, and free of the Black
Ones forever. I think — they will try it. They are very
kind. And you must give of your strength willingly,”
332
AMAZING STORIES
Hektor rose to his feet, stalked past us as in a dream.
After him poured the flood of rose light, enveloping us,
carrying us up with it. I saw now the source of the
organ notes, those to which the Singing Ones responded.
Like a mighty sapphire, faceted and jeweled, yet of yield-
ing blue glory, midway between light and flame, it floated
• — father, ruler, god of these Singing Ones. About it
clustered the rose light, baring us in its midst, forming
a great halo about the blue jewel of flame. I touched it,
felt it full of a warmth and a great life, with infinite
understanding, and into my mind came the thought of
that which Hektor had destroyed in the Crimson City —
perhaps its counterpart in the life of the black Vapor
Creatures, and I had more of sympathy for that race
which had lost its god.
Far below, on the dais, Hektor stood like a statue of
marble, face upturned to the light. Now from the sap-
phire globe burst a fountain of silver flame, falling in
mist about him, then thickening to a rain of flashing silver
that flooded over him from head to foot. And there came
a yearning in me, a longing to unite my strength and
life with the life of the Singing Ones, pouring them out
in the silver flame that meant life and safety to him be-
low. Thicker and thicker poured the rain of silver,
cascading over him in great waves and sinking into him.
Then he began to rise from the golden floor, and the
silver flood ceased as he drew' near, and I saw in his
dreaming eyes the presence of the Singing Ones. With
the rose mist he swept from the temple, and I stood wfith
Thorvald above the empty bowl, watching the life ebb
from the golden hall. Then all were gone, and we went
wearily down the corridor to the hall where the oarsmen
waited.
D URING the days that followed, there was little to
do but roam the golden city or gaze over the side
of the mountain at the flood that still roared beneath.
Thorvald said that a deep, narrow channel had been cut
through the mountains and out into the sea, how we
could not imagine, and that through it the water of the
sea was pouring into the swamp and then into the abyss.
But the sea was large, and the channel narrow, and it
would be long before the men of Thule might venture
homeward once more. There were many in that golden
city, like Hektor, living as men, yet part of that people
of rose light that w'ere the Singing Ones. Through
the streets and garden they wandered, a great peace and
knowledge in their quiet eyes, and I could not but envy
them at times.
I could not but wonder at these folk of light. Here,
even more than in the mist creatures, were my three
criteria of perfection in life satisfied. In the mist crea-
tures, the transformation of energy was efficient far be-
yond all our hopes and dreams, but there was always
something artificial about it, something of unnatural
strain, while here the light had gathered, the silver rain
had descended all with perfect spontaneity that was be-
yond my ability to comprehend, smooth and effortless as
— light. In the black mist there was unity beyond -all
leagues of Man, but the limits of the individual were
still evident. One could see the difference at once.
In the Crimson City, the black mist flowed about in isola-
ted gouts of vapor, unified only in time of great stress.
Here, the golden walls and paving glowed through a
veiling haze of rose and silver, everywhere from lowest
to highest level, and ever continuous, one with all its
parts', yet a people rather than a single creature. Lastly,
the Purpose of the Things, whatever it might be, was
at odds with all the world except itself, alien to the races
that shared the Universe with it. But these people of
light were in perfect harmony with the chord that under-
lies Nature, the basic chord of beauty and symmetry,
great or tiny, majestic or ethereal, that vibrates in
harmony with the fundamentals of Space and Time.
Sometimes, I felt that they were not merely a single
race, but that in them all the other races met in com-
mon sympathy and understanding, as one race, perhaps
— as Life itself.
And I thought of the varied races that I knew — of
Man, and of the creatures of the outer world that I had
seen, birds, and insects, and brilliant fishes, of the great
flesh-hulks of the marshes that my father had shown
to me, of the horridly living jungle in the Underworld,
and last, of these two topmost races — the Vapor Crea-
tures and the Singing Ones. Where did all these fit into
the Purpose that day by day .Man is dragging from the
secrets of the Universe? How did they fit into the under-
lying unity that must ultimately envelop all things, when
Man shall have the mind to comprehend it? I felt that
these Singing Ones were closer to it now than we. They
did not strive with machines and delicate experiments
to catalogue the Universe, to name and classify all that
came within their experience, for that is the way of
Man. Slowly, painstakingly v'e climbed the steep path,
step by faltering step, slipping and stumbling, halting
to impress every pebble and grain of sand, every grass-
blade along the way in our memory, that when the sum-
mit is at last reached, Man may stand and look back into
the memory of his race, and see all the infinite mosaic of
law and chance that is the Pattern of the Universe, uni-
fied before him. So Man moves to his ultimate height,
and so no other race moves while Man lives.
But these folk of light, and they of the black vapor,
had no machines that Man could name so, no massive
tomes of data such as Man could understand. Their ways
were different, from ours and from each other, as are
all ways, in my belief. Both, it seemed, absorbed the Uni-
verse into themselves, but not in the same way. For
the Black Things sucked out the life of what they met,
destroyed it utterly and horribly, while the Singing Ones
gave life where it was needed, out of themselves, and
profited and progressed by it, how I cannot tell, except
that their way was the way of beauty. I am old, and to
the old comes something of insight and philosophizing,
but I am a man, and Man’s way must needs be mine —
the painful, halting climb that knows few- leaps of all-
enveloping insight. I cannot be otherwise, though with
Hektor — I cannot tell.
For long, while the torrent waned beneath the crag
of the Golden City, I had been awaiting the vengeance
of the Black Ones. Come it must, and I felt that this
would mark a crisis in their cause, for all their race must
needs be flung into the battle. Strange, how a little
thing can break the sway of a mighty race, as once tiny
hairy mammals, new evolved and untried by time,
found welcome food in the buried eggs of those great
reptiles that once ruled the planet, and brought that giant
race crashing to the ground in defeat. Hektor was such
as they.
I had feared the coming of the Things, yet when that
ominous cloud of black billowed sluggishly down the
narrow gorge, I was strangely calm and unconcerned.
CLEON OF YZDRAL
333
I felt then that they could not win, that it was written
in the equation of their life.
From the topmost turret of the golden city we
watched, Thorvald and I, the oarsmen crowding around
us with flashing eyes to see the battle. Far below,
lining the terraces in silent expectation, were those who,
like Flektor, had come under the silver rain. Above us,
all about us, enveloping all the city in a glorious haze
of rose light, the Singing Ones floated, their voice a
thrilling clamor of bugles presaging victory. And up
from the heart of the city, blending with their bugling,
rose the organ-song of the sapphire globe, triumphant
and exultant.
Now the Black Ones had encircled the crag with their
dense, black clouds, and were rising toward the city.
And below, at the lowest ramparts, the halo of light
spread and thickened, its rose-flush deepening with the
little darting tongues of thrilling flame. In the uneasy
ranks of black the spheres of opalescence were forming,
small, then swelling into sudden fiery brilliance, huger by
far than what I had ever seen. They were spinning now,
faster and ever faster, the wind whining furiously from
their contact. And still the rose deepened, and I could
see the flickering web of silver that laced its heart.
Now the spheres were still, tensing for the attack.
Even beneath the protecting halo of light we felt the
strain, tugging at Space itself, gaining strength from the
deformation of the Universe to loose its fusing thunder-
bolts of flame. As before, it mounted until the mind
seemed drawn to breaking. And then the tension snap-
ped, and from. the myriad opal spheres leapt the tongues
of searing flame, hurtling straight at the guardian halo,
crashing against that wall of soft rose light — and van-
ishing! Faster, thicker they came, with a sort of frantic
fury ! Now the black mist was gone entirely, drawn into
the opal spheres, and the place below had become a
maelstrom of battling flame ! Leaping, meshing, twin-
ing in a tangled maze of fire, the fury of the spheres bat-
tered at’ the city, faster, ever faster and more furiously,
until the eye could not follow their dancing in the sea
of flame ! Yet the barrier halo of light still clung un-
harmed about the city, drinking in the mad fire that ham-
mered in mighty bolts and streamers at its surface, dis-
solving them utterly, with no sign of stress or battle
save the slow deepening of the rose as the flames poured
into it. I cannot say how long the fray went on. The
rose had swelled to a burning scarlet, shot with great
pulsing arteries of silver, when high above us throbbed
the organ note of the sapphire globe, imperative, com-
manding. And in reply, the rose mist whispered, low
and sweet and far off, laughing and triumphant, with a
little tingling trill running through the soft soughing.
The globe burned with a dazzling blue, now, and from it
cascaded the torrents of silver light, flooding down over
the sea of fire beneath ! And where it struck the spheres,
they dissolved, and were gone in a thin green mist that
drifted slowly out over the gorge and they were swal-
lowed up by the leaping spray. The Black Ones were
forever dead !
T FIERE is little more to tell of the Singing Ones.
Once more, just before our oars bore us again up
the shallow stream, now free of the pouring waters of
the pale sea, we bathed in the rose light, which was
filling us with the fiery energy that had come from the
Black Ones. Slowly up the stream we went, and over
the still flooded swamps where drowned and rotting
tree-things were rising from the settling water, to a deep
inlet that ran far into the mountains and a great cavern
gaped through to the pale sea. Over the level cavern
floor we bore the dragon ship, pushed on rollers by the
oarsmen, and down the sloping, wave-worn bed of the
sea to the restless waters. Skirting the rocky shore, we
passed the channel that had been burned into the black
rock beneath the shattered crystal valve under Luda,
the luminous white water still lipping into its smooth
groove. Then we struck straight out into the pale sea
whose lowering roof came slowly down as though to
crush us, until we rowed blindly through the clinging
mists that blanketed the waters with weird fire. Now
and again some monster of long-gone time broke the sur-
face, throwing up a luminous spray toward the flas’ruig
clouds. By what reckoning, what instinct, we were
guided I cannot tell, but after many weary hours the
rocky walls of the cavern closed in on either hand to a
high-walled narrow fjord running back mile on mile into
the heart of the cliff, then opening into the vaulted
cavern of the men of Thule.
About the shores of a quiet lagoon clustered the low,
thatched homes of stone where lived the race of Thor-
vald. Before each hall, drawn high on the pebbled
beach, lay a dragon ship, marked with the shield of the
clan which dwelt in the granite hall beyond. Up from
the cluster of houses ran waving upland meadows of
wheat and rye, while green forests showed beyond.
Gnarled and leafy, they ran up the flanks of the great
fire-mountain which gave light to this new Thule, its
time-worn precipices aflame with a white-hot river
of molten rock, flowing in great cascades to finally pour
into the bowels of the planet through a great oval pit
above the little city. Here among the kinsmen of Thor-
vald, in his high-raftered hall of granite, I lived and
hunted with them the strange beasts of the land beyond
the fiery mountain, beasts such as the old books tell of,
mountains of flesh with long, recurving tusks and great
flailing trunks, smaller beasts with horns upon their
snouts, and little red eyes, great dun cats with sword-
like teeth — things that had been in Thule in the days of
the First Planet, when men first fought there.
But at last I grew weary, and longed to see again the
lands of the surface, Yzdral, and Ivor, and Thula. With
Thorvald for guide, and ten brawny men of Thule to
aid us, we went up and through shadowy caverns of
crystal where no life was save ourselves. More than a
year we climbed, fed by the stores hid long ago by the
forefathers’ race, food preserved in the cunning way of
Thule. The way was steep and smooth, smoothed by
the hand of Man in ages past, and here and there stone
bridges spanned a chasm, or bronze ladders scaled the
vertical precipice of a mighty fault, or strong gates
barred the way. I recognized here the hand of that
Prince of Quetzal who reared the inner cities for the
banished people of Atlantis and gave aid to them of
Thule, who were his friends.
And then the inner caverns ! Not far from squat Kor
of the lava-plain we emerged from the chasm that
marked the end of the way, and in that dead, dust-
silenced city found an aero to carry us to the surface.
As one long dead, Thula greeted me, and Thorvald as a
dream of the past. Even as he had feasted me in Thule,
( Continued on page 343)
The Jameson
Satellite
By Neil R. Jones
rpHE mammoths of the ancient world have been wonderfully preserved in the
A ice of Siberia. The cold ' , only a few miles out into space, will be far more
intense than in the polar regions and its power for preserving the dead body ,
therefore , would most probably be correspondingly enhanced. When the hero-
scientist in this story knew he must die, he conceived a brilliant idea for the
preservation of his body, the result of which even exceeded his expectations.
What, how and why are cleverly told here.
Illustrated by MOREY
PROLOGUE
The Rocket Satellite
I N the depths of space, some twenty thousand miles
from the earth, the body of Professor Jameson
within its rocket container cruised upon an end-
less journey, circling the great sphere. The roGket
was a satellite of the huge, revolving world around
which it held to its orbit. In the year 1958, Professor
Jameson had sought a plan whereby he might preserve
his body indefinitely after his death. He had worked
long and hard upon the subject.
Since the time of the Pharaohs, the human race had
looked for a means by which the dead might be preserved
against the ravages of time. Great had been the art of
the Egyptians in the embalming of their deceased, a
practice which was later lost to humanity of the ensuing
mechanical age, never to be rediscovered. But even
the embalming of the Egyptians, so Professor Jameson
had argued, would be futile in the face of millions of
years, the dissolution of the corpses being just as
eventual as immediate cremation following death.
The professor had looked for a means by which the
body could be preserved perfectly forever. But eventu-
ally he had come to the conclusion that nothing on earth
is unchangeable beyond a certain limit of time. Just as
long as he sought an earthly means of preservation, he
was doomed to disappointment. All earthly elements are
composed of atoms which are forever breaking down and
building up, but never destroying themselves. A match
may be burned, but the atoms are still unchanged, hav-
ing resolved themselves into smoke, carbon dioxide,
ashes, and certain basic elements. It was clear to the
professor that he could never accomplish his purpose if
he were to employ one system of atomic structure, such
as embalming fluid or other concoction, to preserve an-
other system of atomic structure, such as the human
body, when all atomic structure is subject to universal
change, no matter how slow.
He had then soliloquized upon the possibility of pre-
serving the human body in its state of death until the end
of all earthly time — to that day when the earth would re-
turn to the sun from which it had sprung. Quite sud-
denly one day he had conceived the answer to the puz-
zling problem which obsessed his mind, leaving him awed
with its wild, uncanny potentialities.
He would have his body shot into space enclosed in a
rocket to become a satellite of the earth as long as the
earth continued to exist. He reasoned logically. Any
material substance, whether of organic or inorganic
origin, cast into the depths of space would exist indefi-
nitely. He had visualized his dead body enclosed in a
rocket flying off into the illimitable maw of space. He
334
It became enveloped in a haze of light
which rendered the metal sides of the
mysterious space craft dim and indistinct
while the interior . . . was clearly
revealed. . . .
335
336
AMAZING STORIES
would remain in perfect preservation, while on earth
millions of generations of mankind would live and die,
their bodies to rnolder into the dust of the forgotten
past. He would exist in this unchanged manner until
Avak fog xAww yc&tJkmA, Jreraaifo swn, A\owV\
fade out forever in the chill, thin atmosphere of a dy-
ing world. And still his body would remain intact and
as perfect in its rocket container as on the day of the
far-gone past when it had left the earth to be hurled out
on its career. What a magnificent idea !
At first he had been assailed with doubts. Suppose his
funeral rocket landed upon another planet or, drawn by
the pull of the great sun, were thrown into the flaming
folds of the incandescent sphere? The rocket might con-
tinue on out of the solar system, plunging through the
endless seas of space for millions of years, to finally
enter the solar system of some far off star, as meteors
often enter ours. Suppose his rocket crashed upon a
planet, or the star itself, or became a captive satellite
of some celestial body?
It had been at this juncture that the idea of his rocket
becoming the satellite of the earth had presented it-
self, and he had immediately incorporated it into his
scheme. The professor had figured out the amount of
radium necessary to carry the rocket far enough away
from the earth so that it would not turn around and
crash, and still be not so far away but what the earth’s
gravitational attraction would keep it from leaving the
vicinity of the earth and the solar system. Like the
moon, it would forever revolve around the earth.
He had chosen an orbit sixty-five thousand miles from
the earth for his rocket to follow. The only fears he had
entertained concerned the huge meteors which careened
through space at tremendous rates of speed. He had
overcome this obstacle, however, and had eliminated
the possibilities of a collision with these stellar jugger-
nauts. In the rocket were installed radium repulsion
rays which swerved all approaching meteors from the
path of the rocket as they entered the vicinity of the
space wanderer.
The aged professor had prepared for every con-
tingency, and had set down to rest from his labors, rev-
elling in the stupendous, unparalleled results he would
obtain. Never would his body undergo decay; never
would his bones bleach to return to the dust of the earth
from which all men originally came and to which they
must return. His body would remain millions of years
in a perfectly preserved state, untouched by the hoary
palm of such time as only geologists and astronomers
can conceive.
His efforts would surpass even the wildest dreams of
H. Rider Haggard who depicted the wondrous, embalm-
ing practices of the ancient nation of Kor in his im-
mortal novel, “She,” wherein Holly, under the escort
of the incomparable Ayesha, looked upon the magnifi-
cent, lifelike masterpieces of embalming by the long gone
peoples of Kor.
With the assistance of a nephew, who carried out his
instructions and wishes following his death, Professor
Jameson was sent upon his pilgrimage into space within
the rocket he himself had built. The nephew and heir
kept the secret forever locked in his heart.
G ENERATION after generation had passed upon
its way. Gradually humanity had come to die out,
finally disappearing from the earth altogether. Man-
kind was later replaced by various other forms of life
which dominated the globe for their allotted spaces of
time before they too became extinct. The years piled
tip on one another, running into millions, and still the
Jameson < 5>ate\'nte Vept its \one\y vigil around the earth
gradually closing the distance between satellite anc
planet, yielding reluctantly to the latter’s powerful attrac
tion.
Forty million years later, its orbit ranged some twent;
thousand miles from the earth while the dead work
edged ever nearer the cooling sun whose dull, red bal
covered a large expanse of the sky. Surrounding th
flaming sphere, many of the stars could be perceivet
through the earth’s thin, rarefied atmosphere. As th'
earth cut in slowly and gradually toward the solar lurnin
ary, so was the moon revolving ever nearer the earth
appearing like a great gem in the twilight sky.
The rocket containing the remains of Professor Jame
son continued its endless travel around the great ball o
the earth whose rotation had now ceased entirely — om
side forever facing the dying sun. There it pursued it
lonely way, a cosmic coffin, accompanied by its funera
cortege of scintillating stars amid the deep silence of thi
eternal space which enshrouded it. Solitary it remained
except for the occasional passing of a meteor .flitting b;
at a remarkable speed on its aimless journey through th'
vacuum between worlds.
Would the satellite follow its orbit to the world’s end
or would its supply of radium soon exhaust itself afte
so many eons of time, converting the rocket into the pre;
of the first large meteor which chanced that way? Wouk
it some day return to the earth as its nearer approacl
portended, and increase its acceleration in a long arc t<
crash upon the surface of the dead planet? And whei
the rocket terminated its career, would the body of Pro
fessor Jameson be found perfectly preserved or mereb
a crumbled mound of dust?
CHAPTER I
40,000,000 Years After
E ENTERING within the boundaries of the solai
system, a long, dark, pointed craft sped acros;
4 the realms of space towards the tiny point of lighl
which marked the dull red ball of the dying sun whicl
would some day lie cold and dark forever. Like a hug<
meteor it flashed into the solar system from anothei
chain of planets far out in the illimitable Universe of
stars and worlds, heading towards the great red sun at an
inconceivable speed.
Within the interior of the space traveler, queer crea-
tures of metal labored at the controls of the space flyer
which juggernauted on its way towards the far off
solar luminary. Rapidly it crossed the orbits of Nep-
. tune and Uranus and headed sunward. The bodies of
these queer creatures were square blocks of a metal
closely resembling steel, while for appendages, the metal
cube was upheld by four jointed legs capable of move-
ment. A set of six tentacles, all metal, like the rest of the
body, curved outward from the upper half of the cubic
body. Surmounting it was a queer shaped head rising
to a peak in the center and equipped with a circle of
eyes all the way around the head. The creatures, with
their mechanical eyes equipped with metal shutters, could
see in all directions. A single eye pointed directly up-
THE JAMESON SATELLITE
337
ward, being situated in the apex of the peaked head,
resting in a slight depression of the cranium.
These were the Zoromes of the planet Zor which ro-
tated on its way around a star millions of light years dis-
tant from our solar system. The Zoromes, several hun-
dred thousand years before, had reached a stage in
science, where they searched for immortality and eternal
relief from bodily ills and various deficiencies of flesh and
blood anatomy. They had sought freedom from death,
and had found it, but at the same time they had destroyed
the propensities for birth. For several hundred thousand
years there had been no births and few deaths in the
history of the Zoromes.
This strange race of people had built these mechanical
bodies, and by operation upon one another had removed
their brains to the metal heads from which they directed
the functions and movements of their inorganic anato-
mies. There had been no deaths due to worn out bodies.
When one part of the mechanical men wore out, it was
replaced by a new part, and so the Zoromes continued
living their immortal lives which saw few casualties.
It was true that, since the innovation of the machines,
there had been a few accidents which had seen the de-
struction of the metal heads with their brains. These
were irreparable. Such cases had been few, however,
and the population of Zor had decreased but little. The
machine men of Zor had no use for atmosphere, and
had it not been for the terrible coldness of space, could
have just as well existed in the ether void as upon some
planet. Their metal bodies, especially their metal encased
hrains, required a certain amount of heat even though
they were able to exist comfortably in temperatures
which would instantly have frozen to death a flesh-and-
blood creature.
The most popular pastime among the machine men of
Zor was the exploration of the Universe. This afforded
them a never ending source of interest in the discovery
of the variegated inhabitants and conditions of the vari-
ous planets on which they came to rest. Hundreds of
space ships were sent out in all directions, many of them
being upon their expeditions for hundreds of years be-
fore they returned once more to the home planet of far
off Zor.
This particular space craft of the Zoromes had entered
the solar system whose planets were gradually circling
in closer to the dull red ball of the declining sun. Several
of the machine men of the space craft’s crew, which num-
bered some fifty individuals, were examining the various
planets of this particular planetary system carefully
through telescopes possessing an immense power.
These machine men had no names and were indexed
according to letters and numbers. They conversed by
means of thought impulses, and were neither capable of
making a sound vocally nor of hearing one uttered.
“Where shall we go?” queried one of the men at the
controls questioning another who stood by his side ex-
amining a chart on the wall.
“They all appear to be dead worlds, “4R-3579” replied
the one addressed, “but the second planet from the sun
appears to have an atmosphere which might sustain
a few living creatures, and the third planet may also-
prove interesting for it has a satellite. We shall examine
the inner planets first of all, and explore the outer ones
later if we decide it is worth the time.”
“Too much trouble for nothing,” ventured 9G-721.
"This system of planets offers us little but what we have
seen many times before in our travels. The sun is so
cooled that it cannot sustain the more common life on
its planets, the type of life forms we usually find in our
travels. We should have visited a planetary system
with a brighter sun.”
“You speak of common life,” remarked 2SX-987.
“What of the uncommon life? Have we not found life
existent on cold, dead planets with no sunlight and at-
mosphere at all?”
“Yes, we have,” admitted 9G-721, “but such occasions
are exceedingly rare.”
“The possibility exists, however, even in this case,”
reminded 4R-3S79, “and what if we do spend a bit of
unprofitable time in this planetary system — haven’t we
all an endless lifetime before us? Eternity is ours.”
“We shall visit the second planet first of all,” directed
25X-987, who was in charge of this particular expedi-
tion of the Zoromes, “and on the way there we shall
cruise along near the third planet to see what we can
of the surface. We may be able to tell whether or not
it holds anything of interest for us. If it does, after
visiting the second planet, we shall return to the third.
The first world is not worth bothering about.”
T HE space ship from Zor raced on in a direction
which would take it several thousand miles above
the earth and then on to the planet which we know as
Venus. As the space ship rapidly neared the earth, it
slackened its speed, so that the Zoromes might examine
it closely with their glasses as the ship passed the third
planet.
Suddenly, one of the machine men ran excitedly into
the room where 25X-987 stood watching the topography
of the world beneath him.
“We have found something!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
“Another space ship !”
“Where?”
“But a short distance ahead of us on our course. Come
into the forepart of the ship and you can pick it up with
the glass.”
“Which way is it going?” asked 25X-987.
“It is behaving queerly,” replied the machine man
of Zor. “It appears to be in the act of circling the
planet.”
‘Do you suppose that there really is life on that dead
world — intelligent beings like ourselves, and that this is
one of their space craft ?”
“Perhaps it is another exploration craft like our own
from some other world,” was the suggestion.
“But not of ours,” said 25X-987.
Together, the two Zoromes hastened into the obser-
vation room of the space ship where more of the ma-
chine men were excitedly examining the mysterious
space craft, their thought impulses flying thick and fast.
“It is very small!”
“Its speed is slow !”
“The craft can hold but few men,” observed one.
“We do not yet know of what size the creatures are.”
reminded another. “Perhaps there are thousands of
them in that space craft out there. They may be of such
a small size that it will be necessary to look twice
before finding one of them.”
“We shall soon overtake it and see.”
“I wonder if they have seen us?”
“Where do you suppose it came from?”
338
AMAZING STORIES
“From the world beneath us” was the suggestion.
“Perhaps.”
CHAPTER II
The Mysterious Space Craft
T HE machine men made way for their leader,
25X-987, who regarded the space craft ahead of
them critically.
“Have you tried communicating with it yet?” he
asked.
“There is no reply to any of our signals,” came the
answer.
“Come alongside of it then,” ordered the commander.
“It is small enough to be brought inside our carrying
compartment, and we can see with our penetration rays
just what manner of creatures it holds. They are in-
telligent, that is certain, for their space ship implies as
much.”
The space flyer of the Zoromes slowed up, as it ap-
proached the mysterious wanderer of the cosmic void,
which hovered in the vicinity of the dying world.
“What a queer shape it has,” remarked 2SX-987. “It
is even smaller than I had previously calculated.”
A rare occurrence had taken place among the machine
men of Zor. They were overcome by a great curiosity
which they could not allow to remain unsatiated. Ac-
customed as they were to witnessing strange sights and
stranger creatures, meeting up with weird adventures in
various corners of the Universe, they had become hard-
ened to the usual run of experiences, which they were
in the habit of encountering. It took a great deal to
arouse their unperturbed attitudes. Something, however,
about this queer space craft had gripped their imagina-
tions, and perhaps a subconscious influence asserted to
their minds that here they were to come across an ad-
venture radically unusual.
“Come alongside it,” repeated 25X-987 to the operator
as he returned to the control room and gazed through
the side of the space ship in the direction of the smaller
cosmic wanderer.
“I’m trying to,” replied the machine man, “but it
seems to jump away a bit every time. I get within a
certain distance of it. Our ship seems to jump back-
ward a bit too.”
“Are they trying to elude us?”
“I don’t know. They should pick up more speed if
that is their object.”
“Perhaps they are now progressing at their maximum
speed and cannot increase their acceleration any more.”
“Look!” exclaimed the operator. “Did you see that?
The thing jumped away from us again !”
“Our ship moved also,” said 25X-987. “I saw a flash
of light shoot from the side of the other craft as it
jumped.”
Another machine man now entered and spoke to the
commander of the Zorome expedition.
“They are using radium repellent rays to keep us from
approaching,” he informed.
“Counteract it,” instructed 2SX-987.
The man left, and now the machine man at the controls
of the craft tried again to close with the mysterious
wanderer of the space between planets. The effort was
successful, and this time there was no glow of repulsion
rays from the side of the long, metal cylinder.
They now entered the compartment where various
objects were transferred from the depths of space to the
interplanetary craft. Patiently they waited for the rest
of the machine men to open the side of their space ship
and bring in the queer, elongated cylinder.
“Put it under the penetration ray!” ordered 25X-987.
“Then we shall see what it contains !”
The entire group of Zoromes were assembled about
the long cylinder, whose nickel-plated sides shone bril-
liantly. With interest they regarded the fifteen-foot
object which tapered a bit towards it base The nose was
pointed like a bullet. Eight cylindrical protuberances
were affixed to the base while the four sides were
equipped with fins, such as are seen on aerial bombs to
guide them in a direct, unswerving line through the
atmosphere. At the base of the strange craft there pro-
jected a lever, while in one side was a door which appar-
ently opened outward. One of the machine men reached
forward to open it but was halted by the admonition
of the commander.
“Do not open it yet !” he warned. “We are not aware
of what it contains !”
Guided by the hand of one of the machine men, a
series of lights shone down upon the cylinder. It be-
came enveloped in a haze of light which rendered the
metal sides of the mysterious space craft dim and
indistinct while the interior of the cylinder was as clearly
revealed as if there had been no covering. The machine
men. expecting to see at least several, perhaps many,
strange creature moving about within the cylinder, stared
aghast at the sight they beheld. There was but one crea-
ture, and he was lying perfectly still, either in a state
of suspended animation or else of death. He was about
twice the height of the mechanical men of Zor. For a
long time they gazed at him in silence of thought, and
then their leader instructed them.
“Take him out of the container.”
The penetration rays were turned off, and two of the
machine men stepped eagerly forward and opened the
door. One of them peered within at the recumbent body
of the weird looking individual with the four appendages.
The creature lay against a luxuriously upholstered in-
terior, a strap affixed to his chin while four more straps
held both the upper and lower appendages securely to
the insides of the cylinder. The machine man released
these, and with the help of his comrade removed the
body of the creature from the cosmic coffin in which they
had found it.
“He is dead !” pronounced one of the machine men
after a careful examination of the corpse. “He has been
like this for a long time.”
“There are strange thought impressions left upon his
mind,” remarked another.
One of the machine men, whose metal body was of a
different shade than that of his companions, stepped for-
ward, his cubic body bent over that of the strange crea-
ture who was garbed in fantastic accoutrements. He
examined the dead organism a moment, and then turned
to his companions.
“Would you like to hear his story?” he asked.
“Yes!” came the concerted reply.
“You shall, then,” was the ultimatum. “Bring him
into my laboratory. I shall remove his brain and stimu-
late the cells into activity once more. We shall give him
life again, transplanting his brain into the head of one of
our machines.”
THE JAMESON SATELLITE
339
With these words he directed two of the Zoromes to
carry the corpse into the laboratory.
As the space ship cruised about in the vicinity of this
third planet which 25X-987 had decided to visit on find-
ing the metal cylinder with its queer inhabitant, 8B-52,
the experimenter, worked unceasingly in his laboratory
to revive the long dead brain cells to action once more.
Finally, after consummating his desires and having his
efforts crowned with success, he placed the brain within
the head of a machine. The brain was brought to con-
sciousness. The creature’s dead body was discarded after
the all-important brain had been removed.
CHAPTER III
Recalled to Life
A S Professor Jameson came to himself he was
aware of a strange feeling. He was sick. The
- doctors had not expected him to live ; they had
frankly told him so — but he had cared little in view of
the long, happy years stretched out behind him. Perhaps
he was not to die yet. He wondered how long he had
slept. How strange he felt — as if he had no body.
Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He tried very hard.
A mist swam before him. His eyes had been open all
the time but he had not seen before. That was queer, he
ruminated. All was silent about his bedside. Had all the
doctors and nurses left him to sleep — or to die?
Devil take that mist which swam before him, obscur-
ing everything in line of vision. He would call his
nephew. Vainly he attempted to shout the word “Doug-
las,” but to no avail. Where was his mouth? It seemed
as if he had none. Was it all delirium? The strange
silence — perhaps he had lost his sense of hearing along
with his ability to speak — and he could see nothing dis-
tinctly. The mist had transferred itself into a confused
jumble of indistinct objects, some of which moved about
before him.
He was now conscious of some impulse in his mind
which kept questioning him as to how he felt. He was
conscious of other strange ideas which seemed to be
impressed upon bis brain, but this one thought concern-
ing his indisposition clamored insistently over the lesser
ideas. It seemed just as if someone was addressing him,
and impulsively he attempted to utter a sound and tell
them how queer he felt. It seemed as if speech had been
taken from him. He could not talk, no matter how hard
he tried. It was no use. Strange to say, however, the
impulse within his mind appeared to be satisfied with
the effort, and now put another question to him. Where
was he from? What a strange question when he was at
home. He told them as much. Had he always lived
there? Why, of course.
The aged professor was now becoming more astute
to his conditions. At first it was only a mild, passive
wonderment at his helplessness and the strange thoughts
which raced through his mind Now he attempted to
arouse himself from the lethargy.
Quite suddenly his sight cleared, and what a surprise !
He could see all the way around him without moving
his head ! And he could look at the ceiling of his room!
His room? Was it his room! No — it couldn’t be.
Where was he? What were those queer machines before
him? They moved on four legs. Six tentacles curled
outward from their cubical bodies. One of the machines
stood close before him. A tentacle shot out from the
object and rubbed his head. How strange it felt upon
his brow. Instinctively he obeyed the impulse to shove
the contraption of metal from him with his hands.
His arms did not rise, instead six tentacles projected
upward to force back the machine. Professor Jameson
gasped mentally in surprise as he gazed at the result of
his urge to push the strange, unearthly looking machine-
caricature from him. With trepidation he looked down at
his own body to see where the tentacles had come from,
and his surprise turned to sheer fright and amazement.
His body was like the moving machine which stood be-
fore him! Where was he? What had ever happened to
him so suddenly? Only a few moments ago he had been
in his bed with the doctors and his nephew bending over
him, expecting him to die. The last words he had re-
membered hearing was the cryptic announcement of one
of the doctors.
“He is going now.”
But he hadn’t died after all, apparently. A horrible
thought suddenly struck him! Was this the life after
death ? Or was it an illusion of the mind ? He became
aware that the machine in front of him was attempting
to communicate something to him. How could it, thought
the professor, when he had no mouth. The machine
walked nearer on its four legs. Was it alive ? Its desire
to communicate an idea to him became more insistent.
The suggestion of the machine’s question was in his
mind. Telepathy, thought he.
The creature was asking him about the place whence
he had come. He didn’t know ; his mind was in such a
turmoil of thoughts and conflicting ideas. He allowed
himself to be led to a window where the machine with
waving tentacle pointed towards an object outside. It
was a queer sensation to be walking on the four metal
legs. He looked from the window and saw that which
caused him to nearly drop over, so astounded was he.
The professor found himself gazing from the bound-
less depths of space across the cosmic void to where a
huge planet lay quiet. Now he was sure it was an illusion
which made his mind and sight behave so queerly. He
was troubled by a strange dream. Carefully he examined
the topography of the gigantic globe which rested off in
the distance. At the same time he could see back of him
the concourse of mechanical creatures crowding up be-
hind him and was aware of a telepathic conversation
which was being carried on behind him — or before him.
Which was it? Eyes extended all the way around his
head, while there existed no difference on any of the four
sides of his cubed body. His mechanical legs were
capable of moving in any of four given directions with
perfect ease, he discovered.
The planet was not the earth — of that he was sure.
None of the familiar continents lay before his eyes.
And then he saw the great red ball of the dying sun.
That was not the sun of his earth. It had been a great
deal more brilliant.
“Did you come from that planet?” came the thought
impulse from the mechanism by his side.
“No,” he returned.
He then allowed the machine men — for he assumed
that they were machine men — and reasoned that some-
how or other they had by some marvelous transformation
made him over just as they were, to lead him through
the craft of which he now took notice for the first time.
It was an interplanetary flyer, or space ship, he believed.
340
AMAZING STORIES
25X-987 now took him to the compartment where they
had removed him from the strange container they had
found wandering in the vicinity of the nearby world.
There they showed him the long cylinder.
“My rocket satellite!” exclaimed Professor Jameson
to himself, though in reality every one of the machine
men received his thoughts plainly. “What is it doing
here ?”
“We found your dead body within it,” stated 25X-987.
“Your brain was removed to the machine after having
been stimulated into activity once more. Your carcass
was thrown away.”
Professor Jameson stood dumbfounded by the words
of the machine man.
“So I did die!” exclaimed the professor. “And my
body was placed within the rocket to remain in ever-
lasting preservation until the end of all earthly time !
Success! I have attained unrivalled success!”
He then turned to the machine man.
“How long have I been that way?” he asked excitedly.
“How should we know?” replied the Zorome. “We
picked up yonr rocket only a short time ago, which,
according to your computation, would be less than a day.
This is our first visit to your planetary system and we
chanced upon your rocket. So it is a satellite? We
didn’t watch it long enough to discover whether or not
it was a satellite. At first we thought it to be another
traveling space craft, but when it refused to answer our
signals we investigated.”
“And that was the earth at which I looked,” mused
the professor. “No wonder I didn’t recognize it. The
topography has changed so much. How different the
sun appears — it must have been over a million years ago
when I died!”
“Many millions,” corrected 25X-987. “Suns of such
size as this one do not cool in so short a time as you
suggest.”
Professor Jameson, in spite of all his amazing com-
putations before his death, was staggered by the reality.
“Who are you?” he suddenly asked.
“We are the Zoromes from Zor, a planet of a sun
far across the Universe.”
25X-987 then went on to tell Professor Jameson some-
thing about how the Zoromes had attained their high
stage of development and had instantly put a stop to all
birth, evolution and death of their people by becoming
machine men.
CHAPTER IV
The Dying World
“ 4ND now tell us of yourself,” said 25X-987, “and
about your world.”
J- -A. Professor Jameson, noted in college as a lec-
turer of no mean ability and perfectly capable of relating
intelligently to them the story of the earth’s history,
evolution and march of events following the birth of
civilization up until the time when he died, began his
story. The mental speech hampered him for a time, but
he soon became accustomed to it so as to use it easily,
and he found it preferable to vocal speech after a while.
The Zoromes listened interestedly to the account until
Professor Jameson had finished.
“My nephew,” concluded the professor, “evidently
obeyed my instructions and placed my body in the rocket
I had built, shooting it out into space where I became
the satellite of the earth for these many millions of
years.”
“Do you really want to know how long you were dead
before we found you?” asked 25X-987. “It would be in-
teresting to find out.”
“Yes, I should like very much to know,” replied the
professor. *
“Our greatest mathematician, 459-C-79, will tell you.”
The mathematician stepped forward. Upon one side of
his cube were many buttons arranged in long columns
and squares.
“What is your unit of measuring?” he asked.
“A mile.”
“How many times more is a mile than the length of
your rocket satellite?”
“My rocket is fifteen feet long. A mile is five thou-
sand two hundred and eighty feet.”
The mathematician depressed a few buttons .
“How far, or how many miles from the sun was your
planet at that time ?”
“Ninety-three million miles,” was the reply.
“And your world’s satellite which you call moon from
your planet, earth?”
“Two hundred and forty thousand miles.”
“And your rocket ?”
“I figured it to go about sixty-five thousand miles from
the earth.”
“It was only twenty thousand miles from the earth
when we picked you up,” said the mathematician, de-
pressing a few more buttons. “The moon and sun are
also much nearer your planet now.”
Professor Jameson gave way to a mental ejaculation
of amazement.
“Do you know how long you have cruised around
the planet in your satellite?” said the mathematician.
“Since you began that journey, the planet which you
call the earth has revolved around the sun over forty
million times!”
“Forty — million — years !” exclaimed Professor Jame-
son haltingly. “Humanity must have perished from the
earth long ago ! I’m the last man on earth !”
“It is a dead world,” interjected 25X-987.
“Of course,” elucidated the mathematician, “those
last few million years are much shorter than the ones
in which you lived. The earth’s orbit is of less diameter
and its speed of revolution is greatly increased, due to
its proximity to the cooling sun. I should say that your
year was some four times as long as the time in which
it now takes the planet to circumnavigate the sun.”
“How many days were there in your year?”
“Three hundred and sixty-five.”
“The planet has now ceased rotating entirely.”
“It seems queer that your rocket satellite should avoid
the meteors so long,” observed 459C-79, the mathe-
matician.
“Automatic radium repulsion rays,” explained the
professor.
“The very same rays which kept us from approaching
your rocket,” stated 25X-987, “until we neutralized
them.”
“You died and were shot out into space long before
life occurred on Zor,” soliloquized one of the machine
men. “Our people had not yet been born when yours
had probably disappeared entirely from the face of the
earth.”
THE JAMESON SATELLITE
341
“Hearken to 72N-4783,” said 25X-987, “he is our
philosopher, and loves to dwell on the past life of Zor
when we were flesh and blood creatures with the threat
of death hanging always over our heads. At that time,
like the life you knew, we were born, we lived and died,
all within a very short time, comparatively.”
“Of course, time has come to mean nothing to us,
especially when we are out in space,” observed 72N-4783.
“We never keep track of it on our expeditions even
though back in Zor such accounts are accurately kept.
By the way, do you know how long we stood here
while you recounted to us the history of your planet?
Our machine bodies never get tired, you know.”
“Well,” ruminated Professor Jameson, giving a gen-
erous allowance of time. “I should say about a half a
day, though it seemed scarcely as long as that.”
“We listened to you for four days,” replied 72N-4783.
Professor Jameson was aghast.
“Really, I hadn’t meant to be such a bore,” he
apologized.
“That is nothing,” replied the other. “Your story
was interesting, and had it been twice as long, it would
not have mattered, nor would it have seemed any longer.
Time is merely relative, and in space actual time does
not exist at all, any more than your forty million years’
cessation of life seemed more than a few moments to
you. We saw that it was so when your first thought
impressions reached us following your revival.”
“Let us continue on to your planet earth,” said
25X-987. “Perhaps we shall find more startling dis-
closures there.”
As the space ship of the Zoromes approached the
sphere from which Professor Jameson had been hurled
in his rocket forty million years before, the professor
wondered how the earth would appear, and what radical
changes he would find. Already he knew that the
geographical conditions of the various continents were
changed. He had seen as much from the space ship.
A short time later the earth was reached. The space
travelers from Zor, as well as Professor Jameson,
emerged from the cosmic flyer to walk upon the surface
of the planet. The earth had ceased rotating, leaving one-
half its surface turned always toward the sun. This side
of the earth was heated to a considerable degree, while
its antipodes, turned always away from the solar lumi-
nary, was a cold, frigid, desolate waste. The space
travelers from Zor did not dare to advance very far into
either hemisphere, but landed on the narrow, thousand-
mile strip of territory separating the earth's frozen half
from its sun-baked antipodes.
As Professor Jameson emerged from the space ship
with 25X-987, he stared in awe at the great transforma-
tion four hundred thousand centuries had wrought.
The earth’s surface, its sky and the sun were all so
changed and unearthly appearing. Off to . the east the
blood red ball of the slowly cooling sun rested upon the
horizon, lighting up the eternal day. The earth’s rota-
tion had ceased entirely, and it hung motionless in the
sky as it revolved around its solar parent, its orbit
slowly but surely cutting in towards the great body of
the sun. The two inner planets, Mercury and Venus,
were now very close to the blood red orb whose scintil-
lating, dazzling brilliance had been lost in its cooling
process. Soon, the two nearer planets would succumb to
the great pull of the solar luminary and return to the
flaming folds, from which they had been hurled out as
gaseous bodies in the dim, age-old past, when their ca-
reers had just begun.
The atmosphere was nearly gone, so rarefied had it
become, and through it Professor Jameson could view
with amazing clarity without discomfort to his eyes the
bloated body of the dying sun. It appeared many times
the size he had seen it at the time of his death on ac-
count of its relative nearness. The earth had advanced
a great deal closer to the great star around which it
swung.
The sky towards the west was pitch black except for
the irridescent twinkle of the fiery stars which studded
that section of the heavens. As he watched, a faint
glow suffused the western sky, gradually growing
brighter, until, like a great gem inlaid in the velvety
blackness, the full moon majestically lifted itself above
the horizon, casting its pale, ethereal radiance upon the
dying world beneath. It was increased to many times
the size Professor Jameson had ever seen it during his
natural lifetime. The earth’s greater attraction was
drawing upon the moon just as the sun was pulling the
earth ever nearer itself.
This cheerless landscape confronting the professor
represented the state of existence to which the earth had
come. It was a magnificent spread of loneliness which
bore no witness to the fact that it had seen the teeming
of life in better ages long ago. The weird, yet beautiful
scene, spread in a melancholy panorama before his eyes
drove his thoughts into gloomy abstraction with its dis-
mal, depressing influence. Its funereal, oppressive as-
pect smote him suddenly with the chill of a terrible
loneliness.
25X-987 aroused Professor Jameson from his lethar-
gic reverie. “Let us walk around and see what we can
find. I can understand how you feel in regard to the
past. It is quite a shock— but it must happen to all
worlds sooner or later — even to Zor. When that time
comes, the Zoromes will find a new planet on which to
live. If you travel with us, you will become accustomed
to the sight of seeing dead, lifeless worlds as well as
new and beautiful ones pulsating with life and energy.
Of course, this world being your own, holds a peculiar
sentimental value to you, but it is really one planet
among billions.”
Professor Jameson was silent.
“I wonder whether or not there are any ruins to be
found?” queried 2SX-987.
“I don’t believe so,” replied the professor. “I remem-
ber hearing an eminent scientist of my day state that
given fifty thousand years, every structure and other
creation of man would be obliterated entirely from the
earth’s surface.”
“And he was right,” endorsed the machine man of
Zor. “Time is a great effacer.”
For a long time the machine men wandered over the
dreary surface of the earth, and then 2SX-987 sug-
gested a change of territory to explore. In the space
ship, they moved around the earth to the other side, still
keeping to the belt of shadowland which completely en-
circled the globe like some gigantic ring. Where they
now landed arose a series of cones with hollow peaks.
“Volcanoes!” exclaimed the professor.
“Extinct ones,” added the machine man.
Leaving the space ship, the fifty or more machine men,
including Professor Jameson, were soon exploring the
curiously shaped peaks. The professor, in his wanderings
342
AMAZING STORIES
had strayed away from the rest, and now advanced
down into one of the cup-like depressions of the peak,
out of sight of his companions, the Zoromes.
CHAPTER V
Eternity or Death
H E was well in the center of the cavity when the
ground beneath him gave way suddenly and he
catapulted below into the darkness. Through
the Stygian gloom he fell in what seemed to be an end-
less drop. He finally crashed upon something hard.
The thin crust of the volcano’s mouth had broken
through, precipitating him into the deep, hollow in-
terior.
It must have been a long ways to fall — or so it had
seemed. Why was he not knocked senseless or killed?
Then he felt himself over carefully with three tentacles.
His metal legs were four broken, twisted masses of
metal, while the lower half of his cubic body was jammed
out of shape and split. He could not move, and half of
his six tentacles were paralyzed.
How would he ever get out of there? he wondered.
The machine men of Zor might never find him. What
would happen to him, then? He would remain in this
deathless, monotonous state forever in the black hole of
the volcano’s interior unable to move. What a horrible
thought ! He could not starve to death ; eating was un-
known among the Zoromes, the machines requiring no
food. He could not even commit suicide. The only
way for him to die would be to smash the strong metal
head, and in his present immovable condition, this was
impossible.
It suddenly occurred to him to radiate thoughts for
help. Would the Zoromes receive his messages? He
wondered how far the telepathic messages would carry.
He concentrated the powers of his mind upon the call
for help, and repeatedly stated his position and plight.
He then left his mind clear to receive the thought
answers of the Zoromes. He received none. Again
he tried. Still he received no welcoming answer. Pro-
fessor Jameson became dejected.
It was hopeless. The telepathic messages had not
reached the machine men of Zor. They were too far
away, just as one person may be out of earshot of
another’s voice. He was doomed to a terrible fate of
existence! It were better that his rocket had never
been found. He wished that the Zoromes had de-
stroyed him instead of bringing him back to life — back
to this !
His thoughts were suddenly broken in upon.
“We’re coming!”
“Don’t give up hope!”
If the professor’s machine body had been equipped
with a heart, .it would have sung for joy at these wel-
come thought impressions. A short time later there ap-
peared in the ragged break of the volcano’s mouth,
■where he had fallen through, the metal head of one of
the machine men.
“We shall have you out of there soon,” he said.
The professor never knew how they managed it, for
he lost consciousness under some strange ray of light
they projected down upon him in his prison. When he
came to consciousness once more, it was to find himself
inside the space ship.
“If you had fallen and smashed your head, it would
have been all over with you,” were the first thought im-
pulses which greeted him. “As it is, however, we can
fix you up first rate.”
“Why didn’t you answer the first time I called to
you?” asked the professor. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“We heard you, and we answered, but you didn’t
hear us. You see, your brain is different than ours, and
though you can send thought waves as far as we can
you cannot receive them from such a great distance.”
“I’m wrecked,” said the professor, gazing at his
twisted limbs, paralyzed tentacles and jammed body.
“We shall repair you,” came the reply. “It is your
good fortune that your head was not crushed.”
“What are you going to do with me?” queried the
professor. “Will you remove my brains to another
machine ?”
“No, that isn’t necessary. We shall merely remove
your head and place it upon another machine body.”
The Zoromes immediately set to work upon the task,
and soon had Professor Jameson’s metal head removed
from the machine which he had wrecked in his fall
down the crater. All during the painless operation, the
professor kept up a series of thought exchanges in con-
versation with the Zoromes, and it seemed but a short
time before his head surmounted a new machine and
he was ready for further exploration. In the course of
his operation, the space ship had been moved to a new
position, and now as they emerged 25X-987 kept com-
pany with Professor Jameson.
“I must keep an eye on you,” he said. “You will be
getting into more trouble before you get accustomed to
the metal bodies.”
But Professor Jameson was doing a great deal of
thinking. Doubtlessly, these strange machine men who
had picked up his rocket in the depths of space and
had brought him back to life, were expecting him to
travel with them and become adopted into the ranks of
the Zoromes. Did he want to go with them? He
couldn’t decide. Pie had forgotten that the machine men
could read his innermost thoughts.
“You wish to remain here alone upon the earth?” asked
25X-987. “It is your privilege if you really want it so.”
“I don’t know,” replied Professor Jameson truthfully.
He gazed at the dust around his feet. It had probably
been the composition of men, and had changed from
time to time into various other atomic structures of other
queer forms of life which had succeeded mankind. It
was the lav/ of the atom which never died. And now he
had within his power perpetual existence. He could be
immortal if he wished ! It would be an immortality of
never-ending adventures in the vast, endless Universe
among the galaxy of stars and planets.
A great loneliness seized him. Would he be happy
among these machine men of another far-off world —
among the Zoromes? They were kindly and solicitous
of his welfare. What better fate could he expect? Still,
a longing for his own kind arose in him — the call of hu-
manity. It was irresistible. What could he do? Was
it not in vain? Humanity had long since disappeared
from the earth — millions of years ago. He wondered
what lay beyond the pales of death — real death, where
the body decomposed and wasted away to return to the
dust of the earth and assume new atomic structures.
He had begun to wonder whether or not he had been
dead all these forty millions of years — suppose he had
THE JAMESON SATELLITE
343
been merely in a state of suspended animation. He had
remembered a scientist of his day, who had claimed that
the body does not die at the point of official death. Ac-
cording to the claims of this man, the cells of the body
did not die at the moment at which respiration, heart
beats and blood circulation ceased, but existed in the
semblance of life for several days afterward, especially
in the cells of the bones, which died last of all.
Perhaps when he had been sent out into space in his
rocket right after his death, the action of the cosmic
void was to halt this slow death of the cells in his body,
and hold him in suspended animation during the ensuing
millions of years. Suppose he should really die — de-
stroying his own brain? What lay beyond real death?
Would it be a better plane of existence than the Zo-
romes could offer him? Would he rediscover humanity,
or had they long since arisen to higher planes of exist-
ence or reincarnations? Did time exist beyond the
mysterious portals of death? If not, then it was possible
for him to join the souls of the human race. Had he
really been dead all this time ? If so, he knew what to ex-
pect in case he really destroyed his own brain. Oblivion !
Again the intense feeling of loneliness surged over
him and held him within its melancholy grasp. Des-
perately, he decided to find the nearest cliff and jump
from it — head first! Humanity called; no man lived to
companion him. His four metal limbs carried him
swiftly to the summit of a nearby precipice. Why not
gamble on the hereafter? 25X-987, understanding his
trend of thought, did not attempt to restrain him. In-
stead, the machine man of Zor waited patiently.
As Professor Jameson stood there meditating upon
the jump which would hurl him into a new plane of
existence — or into oblivion, the thought transference of
25X-987 reached him. It was laden with the wisdom
born of many planets and thousands of centuries’ ex-
perience.
“Why jump?” asked the machine man. “The dying
world holds your imagination within a morbid clutch.
It is all a matter of mental condition. Free your mind
of this fascinating influence and come with us to visit
other worlds, many of them beautiful and new. You
will then feel a great difference.
“Will you come?”
The professor considered for a moment as he re-
sisted the impulse to dive off the declivity to the enticing
rocks far below. An inspiration seized him. Backing
away from the edge of the cliff, he joined 25X-987
once more.
“I shall come,” he stated.
He would become an immortal after all and join the
Zoromes in their never-ending adventures from world to
world. They hastened to the space ship to escape the
depressing, dreary influence of the dying world, which
had nearly driven Professor Jameson to take the fatal
leap to oblivion.
The End
Cleon of Yzdral
By P. Schuyler Miller
( Continued from page 333)
so was he my guest here, and his kinsmen with him.
Together we roved the face of this Second Planet — the
land beyond the black desert, the mountainous land
to the south, and those smaller isles to the north, where
Thule will once more become an empire. For we of
Thula gave him aeros, and the men of that deep buried
world will come again to the surface of their planet,
leaving the Underworld to those Singing Ones who are
already changing the swamplands and jagged ridges
to a thing of beauty, where the soft blue light glows in-
stead of the wan white of the luminous clouds.
One last thing there is, of mighty importance to us
of Atlantis. Yzdral I found looted, stripped of its great
library and tools of science. But in their place was a
scroll in the old tongue of the first Atlantides — a tale
stranger than any dream ! For it told of men of the
First Planet, of a mighty race advanced in wisdom
and science beyond ourselves in many ways, a race which
has found the secret of the thunder of Zeus, even as did
that long dead Prince of Quetzal, men who came here
to the Second Planet, Poseidon, by its awful power! I
know now the truth of that aero above the fused for-
tress, and. of the storm that drowned the living jungles
of the Underworld and stripped much of the inner
caverns of the grey death-dust. In the pit below Luda
we found two of the thunderbolt devices, which they
name by the strange word of “resonator,” placed there
to block the path of the Black Ones. With these as
models and with the writings of the Old One who came
from the First Planet, for guide, we have built more.
Some of our men of science, and many of the younger
men who seek adventure wish to go there, but I am
emperor now, and by my word only a chosen few may
go, to pave the way in a strange, alien world or to bar it
to others. For their life and their ideals will not be like
ours, and unless there is some spot where we may start
anew, undisturbed, it is best to remain here in our own
world. The gate between our worlds must not be closed
to those men of wisdom who seek the Purpose, but for
many only harm would result. It is always so.
We have found the pit in the red clay where they ap-
peared, marking a spot in their world where we will be
received with sympathy and counseled well, and it is my
hope that we and they will share our burdens and tri-
umphs under the unity of the Race, but they are young
yet, perhaps it may not be. Time must tell.
The End.
The Metal
By Otis Adelbert Kline
TTT’HEN the most powerful artillery , deadly bacteria and explosives known ,
Vr and the most destructive methods available fail to be effective against
some enemy’s unknown weapon of war, it is time, very frequently , to turn to
some simple means of combat and attack. Paradoxically, though, it is the simple
thing that is so difficult to hit upon. In fact, like some of the greatest discoveries
and inventions, the most destructive chemical solutions are often discovered by
sheer accident. For instance, who could ever have thought purposefully of the
chemical that was finally adopted by the hero of this story ?
Foreword
M UCH has been written about the terrific
cataclysm of 1960 — the eruption of the
volcano, Coseguina, with its accompani-
ment of earthquakes, fires, floods and
storms, which carried death and destruc-
tion into Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua.
I he world has been told by a thousand writers, with
a thousand different viewpoints, of the awful blackness,
so much more intense and so far greater in extent than
“La Oscuridad Grande " — ‘‘The Great Darkness” of 1835
—as to relegate the former event, awe-inspiring as it was,
to insignificance.
Eyewitnesses who were fortunate enough to escape
with their lives from the devastated cities, have described
their varying sensations when, with noon and midnight
alike, tiles slid from the roofs, walls crumbled, buildings
crashed to the shaking earth like houses of cards, bells
tolled futilely in cracked towers, and the air was filled
with shrieks, prayers and choking dust.
But, immense and devastating as it was, it is not of
this cataclysm that I would write, but of that infinitely
more terrible menace to all mankind which closely fol-
lowed it — which was, in fact, loosed on the inhabitants of
the earth’s crust as a direct result of the eruption. For
I was an eyewitness of the first appearance of the Metal
Menace, as well as a direct participant in the action that
followed, as men struggled to shake off the fetters with
which the slimy intelligences of the nether world were
slowly and surely shackling and enslaving them.
It is difficult to attempt to write in an orderly fashion
of those nerve-racking, reason-destroying events when
they are yet so close to me, but life is fleeting, death may
come to me at any moment, and there are many facts
which are known to me alone, and which should be pre-
served for posterity. For this reason, I begin my task as
chronicler now, instead of waiting for time to bring order
and clarity to the vision. Walter Stuart.
CHAPTER I
The Metal Beings
“’S' TTOVER,” I shouted through the control room
I — i phone, and my pilot. Art Reeves, skillfully
■JL JL banked, returning the Blettendorf electroplane
almost to tho exact spot and holding it there suspended
with helicopters whirring.
We were directly above the crater of Coseguina. But
six months had passed since its eruption, the most spec-
tacular and destructive in the history of the world, yet
it had not only ceased to smoke, but the hot lava, which
had bubbled and seethed for some months in this im-
mense cauldron of Mother Nature, had suddenly receded,
and there remained a yawning black shaft, the bottom
of which was sunk so far into the bowels of the earth as
to be invisible.
It was to investigate this singular and previously un-
heard of phenomenon that my chief, the secretary of the
American Geographic Association, had sent me from
Chicago in the Blettendorf, together with Pat Higgins,
my photographer and assistant, and Pilot Reeves.
“Descend,” I said, and we began swiftly and smoothly
to drop toward the yawning blackness beneath us.
Pat flashed on his keel and side lights and started his
automatic cameras clicking. Four of them, like the lights,
were trained on the crater walls, and the fifth was pointed
straight down through the floor.
The top of the crater was fully a mile in diameter, but
as we descended, the walls gradually drew closer together.
Presently, when our magnetic altimeter showed that we
were nearly five thousand feet below sea level, the shaft
assumed a uniform diameter of about two hundred feet.
344
M onster
Author of “The Malignant Entity ”
“ The Man from the Moon etc.
Illustrated
by
MOREY
“Faith,” said Pat with a grin, “this must be where
the bottom dropped out of the kettle. If this keeps up,
we’ll be having tea with the devil in a couple of hours.”
I mopped the perspiration from my brow. The air in
the cabin had grown uncomfortably warm. A glance
at the thermometer showed a temperature of 120 degrees.
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to get much closer to
His Plutonic Majesty without asbestos suits,” I replied.
“Besides, the heat will thin our oil until its lubricating
value will be nil. If we burn out a couple of helicopter
bearings, we’re due for a long, hard drop.
“Sure, we’d be old and gray by the time we hit the
bottom,” said Pat.
A huge green beetle as large
as a Shetland pony charged us
with its huge four-foot man-
dibles distended . . ,
345
346
AMAZING STORIES
Watching the thermometer and magnetic altimeter,
I saw that the heat was increasing at the rate of about
one degree to every hundred feet of descent. When it
reached 135 degrees I ordered Reeves to hover.
“We’ve come as far as we dare in this machine,” I
told Pat. “I’ll take a look through the binoculars before
we ascend.”
I pointed my 50X Zeiss glasses downward in an effort
to see the bottom of the shaft. But adjust them as I
would, I could see only a tiny black speck where the
seemingly converging walls — due to perspective — of the
pit ended. I did notice something else, however, which
caused me to utter an involuntary exclamation of sur-
prise. The walls of the pit beneath us were of gleaming,
silvery looking metal, and winding up around them was
a railed metal stairway. On this stairway there was a
movement — a constant flow of shiny metal globes rolling
Upward.
. Rapidly shifting the focus for a nearer view I looked
for the top of the metal wall. I found it in a moment, and
the powerful glasses brought every detail so close that
it seemed as if I could almost reach out and touch
the gleaming railing of the spiral stairway. Never, so
long as I live, will I forget the strange, almost unbe-
lievable sight that greeted my eyes.
Standing along the railing near the end of the stairway,
were four grotesque creatures, somewhat man-like in
form. Their bodies were glistening metal globes, like
osage oranges, from which, in lieu of arms and legs,
there projected four tentacles, apparently constructed
of many little globes strung together like beads. Perched
on similar but shorter tentacles above the body spheres
were smaller globes, evidently the heads of the creatures.
They had enormous goggling eyes, literally like head-
lights, both in shape, and from the fact that they cast
their own rays before them.
The first three of these strange beings carried long
pipes slightly curved at the upper ends. The lower ends
were attached to flexible tubes greatly resembling con-
duit, which trailed down the stairway. The fourth held
a straight cylinder about three inches in diameter and
four feet in length.
The first three individuals were exceedingly busy. In
fact they seemed to be the sole structural workers on
the stupendous metal shaft that was swiftly rising from
the bowels of the earth. The metal globes which were
rolling up the stairway were of three sizes, and appeared
to be living creatures, for when they reached the ends
/'of their respective lines, all sprouted the queer tentacle-
like arms and legs of the four larger creatures, and pro-
jected globular heads from their round interiors. Then
those of the largest size sprang up, one by one, to the
top of the unfinished wall, where they retracted their
heads and limbs and rolled closely together.
A S soon as each new globe was in position, the fore-
most of the three large workers cemented it in place
with a stream of gleaming liquid resembling quicksilver,
that poured from the tube he carried, and filled in the
interstices until a glistening, pebble-grained wall resulted.
The rolling globes of the middle size leaped from the
end of their line to make the stairway in the same man-
ner, cemented in place by the second tube-bearer, while
those of the smallest size formed the railing and its sup-
porting bars, and were fused into place by the third large
worker.
I was dumbfounded. The idea of a race of metal beings
building a structure with their own bodies, cheerfully
and willingly, was almost unthinkable for me. It was
something quite beyond my point of view. But then, a
coral polyp’s viewpoint as it fuses its body in with mil-
lions of others to form an atoll of a reef is also iar
from the understanding of individualistic men.
“Haven’t seen a banshee, have you, chief ?” asked Pat.
who had noticed my startled expression.
“Take a look for yourself,” I responded. “I want to
know if you can see what I see.”
Focusing his own binoculars he looked, then exclaimed :
“Holy smokes ! And I thought all the fairies were
in Ireland! It’s the Little People, sure as my name’s
Pat Higgins !”
I was looking at the fourth of the larger individuals,
the one that carried the tube, wondering what his func-
tion was. Suddenly, as if attracted by the intensity of my
gaze, he flashed his great goggle eyes upward. For an
instant he gazed at the electroplane. Then he pointed
his cylinder upward, and there was a crash of broken
glass as a projectile struck the floor window.
As we were without weapons, I shouted an order to
Reeves :
“Ascend ! Full speed !”
“Sure, that one must have been a guard,” said Pat,
shutting off his clicking cameras. “Wonder what that
was he fired at us.”
The floor lurched as our craft shot swiftly upward.
Something rolled against my foot. It was a shiny metal
globe about two inches in diameter — evidently the mis-
sile which had been fired from the cylinder.
“Here it is, Pat,” I said, and picked it up.
But scarcely had I done so, when it shot out segmented,
tentacle-like arms and legs, and a head that was a tiny,
goggle-eyed miniature of the creature which had fired it.
One of the metal tentacles whipped down on the back
of my hand with a stinging blow, so startling me that I
dropped the thing. It instantly scurried for the broken
floor window, but Pat with a “No you don’t!” scooped
it up in his empty binocular case and fastened down the
lid.
“My grandfather once caught a fairy,” said Pat, “and
devil a bit of good luck did he have after that. It brought
him to an early grave in his ninety-seventh year.”
We emerged into the light of day, and Pat shut off
his lights.
“Back to Leon,” I ordered, and Reeves started
the three propellers roaring as he pointed the nose of our
craft up over the crater rim.
For our powerful electroplane, capable of a speed of
five hundred miles an hour, the sixty-mile trip back to
Leon would only have been a matter of a few minutes.
But we were not destined to complete it, for scarcely had
we passed over the ruins of Viejo, a little more than half
the distance, ere Pat, who had been looking backward
toward Coseguina, called my attention to the fact that
an immense metal globe had shot up out of the crater and
was following us through the air at a pace so much
swifter than our own that we seemed, by comparison, to
be standing still.
I focused my glasses on the big globe as it hurtled
swiftly toward us. It was about a hundred and fifty feet
in diameter, and constructed of the same gleaming metal
that we had noted in the shaft. A minute, and it loomed,
immense and menacing, almost upon us.
THE METAL MONSTER
347
“Drop,” I ordered Reeves.
He shut off the forward propellers, set the wings at
perpendicular, and reversed the helicopters. We dropped,
just in time, the immense globe hurtling over us with
terrific speed. Its momentum must have carried it at
least five miles ahead of us before it could turn to come
back. In the meantime, we had descended to within a
thousand feet of the earth.
“Hover,” I shouted to Reeves, but scarcely had he
checked our downward progress, less than five hundred
feet from the ground, when the globe returned, plunging
straight at us.
Reeves managed to swerve slightly to one side before
it struck, but our left wing was torn off, and we spun
crazily beneath the supporting helicopters. Then a blade
broke, and we w r ent into a swift nose dive.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of the ash-covered ruins
of a great hacienda rushing up to meet us. Then there
was a terrific crash — and darkness.
CHAPTER II
Captured
A N immense cloud of volcanic dust arose as we
crashed through the tileless frame of the hacienda
JL A roof. Our second helicopter had retarded our fall
sufficiently to prevent fatalities, but we were badly shaken
up.
The dust was so thick that I could scarcely see my
hand before my eyes. The helicopter had ceased to whirl
as we struck. The motor was dead.
“All right, Pat?” I asked.
“Safe and sound, chief,” he replied.
“And you, Reeves?”
“Not hurt a bit.”
“Good. We’d better get out of here at once and try to
find a place to hide. That globe will be right back after
us, I’m afraid.”
Scarcely had I spoken, ere something ground against
the roof, and there was a metallic clank as if a chain
had been tossed to the floor.
“Follow me,” I called, softly, and leaping out of the
side door, groped my way through the dust cloud which
was beginning to settle a little. The floor was covered
to depth of more than a foot with fluffy volcanic ash,
making the going difficult.
Presently my outstretched hands encountered a wall,
and I followed this to a doorway. Stumbling through, I
entered a large room that was in semi-darkness. I felt
a hand on my arm. Then Pat whispered :
“They’re after us ! Hear ’em clanking around in the
next room?”
“Where’s Reeves?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Must have found a place to hide.”
We came to another doorway. The door was half
ajar, and, we squeezed through. We found ourselves in
a small clothes closet.
I peered through the interstice between door and
frame. The dust was settling rapidly, and the room into
wdiich we had crashed was partly visible through the first
doorway we had entered. A number of metal creatures
like those we had seen in the shaft were swarming over
the wreck. Their globular bodies gleamed in the sunlight
which filtered through the dust into the hole we had
smashed in the roof. And hanging down through that
hole was a thick metal cable or tentacle composed of
globular segments which tapered slightly toward the tip.
The creatures investigating the , wreck of the electro-
plane were about four feet in height — the same stature as
the structural workers we had observed in the shaft.
Suddenly I heard the voice of Reeves:
“Let go of me, damn you!”
In a cloud of swirling dust he was dragged by two of
the creatures, each of which had hold of an arm, out
into the sunlight. His head and clothing were thickly
covered with volcanic ash. Evidently he had missed the
doorway, had dug in, and had just been discovered.
Twisting, kicking and cursing, he was dragged up
toward the huge tentacle. It whipped around his waist,
then jerked him aloft, out of our sight. In a moment
it dropped once more. With remarkable agility, the
metal beings swarmed up. Then it was withdrawn,
there was a clank like that of huge metal door being
closed, and the roof creaked as if a great weight had
been lifted from it.
“They’ve gone,” said Pat, “and they’ve got Reeves!”
“Poor devil ! And we couldn’t do a thing ! Come on.”
I led the way to the room into which the ship had
crashed. Quickly mounting to its top, I climbed up on
the unbroken helicopter blade and leaped to the roof.
The huge metal sphere had disappeared.
Pat came up beside me.
“It’s a long walk to Leon,” he said, “and my wrist
radiophone is smashed. How’s yours?”
I tested it. It was tuned for just such an emergency,
with that of my secretary, Miss Davis, who was back in
the Hotel Soledade at Leon.
It worked. Her answer came back, clear and dis-
tinct.
“Yes, Mr. Stuart.”
“Higgins and I cracked up on the roof of a large
hacienda, about ten miles northwest of Leon. Send a
helicopter taxi for us at once.
“Yes, Mr. Stuart. Right away.”
I broke the connection, then turned to Pat.
“Think we can save any of those pictures?” I asked.
“Why not, chief ? The fuselage wasn’t wrecked. I’ll
go down and get them.”
The helicopter taxi arrived just as Pat came up with
the cameras. We got aboard.
“Soledade Hotel,” I told the driver.
In five minutes he lowered us to the flat hotel roof.
I paid him while Pat unloaded the cameras. We passed
them to a couple of liveried attendants, who led the way
to our suite.
Miss Davis arose from her typewriter desk, concern
in her eyes, as we entered.
“Was anyone injured? Why, where’s Mr. Reeves?
He’s not ”
“Not dead, so far as we know,” I replied. “Captured.
I’ll explain later. Get me the secretary of the Association
at once, on the radiovisiphone. Then the President of
Nicaragua.”
“But President Monteiro and his daughter are here in
the hotel,” said Miss Davis. “They came from Managua,
today. Relief work, you know.”
“All right. Get Secretary Black. Then I’ll look up
President Monteiro.”
The face of my chief presently appeared in the radio-
visiphone disc.
“Stuart!” he exclaimed. “What are you up to now?”
348
AMAZING STORIES
“Turn on your recorder,” I replied. “Then I’ll tell
you.”
“It’s on. Go ahead.”
I DID. I related every detail of the strange sights we
had just witnessed, and the incredible experience
through which we had just passed.
When I finished, he said :
“If anyone but you had told me this. Stuart, I’d think
it some sort of a practical joke. But you are such a
serious person, I believe you. Yet it's possible that you
were suffering from an hallucination. "
“I’ll send you photographs within ten hours,” I said.
"Cameras don’t have hallucinations/’
“Right. I’ll notify the War Department. Remain
within call. Off.
As he spoke the word “Off,” the connection was auto-
matically broken. His face faded from the disc.
Miss Davis had gotten the President of Nicaragua on
the room visiphone.
“President Monteiro will see you in ten minutes,” she
said. “He is in Parlor L.”
I went into the next room, where Pat was busy de-
veloping his films. He had taken his small metal cap-
tive from his binocular case and confined it in a stout
bird cage with a small padlock on the door. It was lean-
ing against the bars, watching him with its round, head-
light eyes, as I entered.
“Get your stuff in shape so you can leave it, Pat,’’ I
said. “We’re going to call on President Monteiro in
ten minutes, and take the prisoner with us.”
Ten minutes later I knocked on the door of President
Monteiro’s suite. Pat stood behind me with his caged
prisoner. We were ushered in by an attendant. The
president, a small dark man with a carefully trimmed
iron gray beard, was seated behind a large mahogany
table. Beside him, with her hand on his shoulder, stood
a slender, brown-eyed girl, apparently about twenty years
of age. I recognized her instantly from the photographs
I had seen of her, as Dolores Monteiro, daughter of the
president, and the most famous beauty in the two Amer-
icas.
The president greeted me cordially. I introduced my
assistant, and he presented us to his daughter. An at-
tendant placed chairs.
Selecting a long, thin cigar from a humidor, and push-
ing it toward me with a gesture of invitation, the presi-
dent said :
“And now, Senor Stuart, what is this important mes-
sage you have for me?”
Briefly I told him of our strange experience— the
astounding sights we had witnessed, and our narmw
escape. He smoked with countenance unruffled until the
end. Then he said:
“Understand me, senor, I am not doubting your word.
But a story so strange as yours needs substantiation.
You will not mind if I — ah — investigate further?”
“That is precisely what I hope you will do,” I re-
plied. “We have brought an exhibit, however, which I
believe will convince you — a miniature specimen of the
strange race of metal creatures w r e saw.”
I lifted the cage, and put it on the table. The little
creature inside it focused its huge headlight eyes in-
quiringly on each of us in turn, as if wondering what to
expect next.
“Looks like a man-made automaton,” commented the
president.
“True,” I replied, “yet it, and its larger fellows which
we encountered, acted as if endowed with intelligence.”
“You think these creatures will be — hostile?”
“Judging by their past actions, yes.”
“Hum. We’ll try them a little further.”
He pressed a button on the table. A buzzer sounded
in the next room and a uniformed aide came in.
“Dispatch three combat ships, fully armed and manned,
to the crater Coseguina at once,” he ordered. “Tell
them to be on the lookout for flying globes and strange
metal beings, but to make no hostile move unless at-
tacked. Have one descend as far as possible into the
crater while the other two stand by to guard it. If at-
tacked, they are to defend themselves to the best of their
ability. And let me hear their reports.”
The aide bowed and withdrew.
“Perhaps you would like to see some photographs,” I
suggested.
“With pleasure,” replied the president.
“I’ll make some quick prints and bring them trp,”
said Pat, rising. “Shall I leave the prisoner here?”
"Yes, leave him,” said Monteiro. “I want to examine
him further.”
Pat went out and closed the door. The president poked
an inquiring finger through the bars at the little creature
in the cage, then withdrew it hastily with an exclama-
tion of surprise as it struck at the encroaching digit with
one of its tentacle arms.
"Per Dios!” he exclaimed. “This one, at least, is
hostile. We shall soon find out about the others.”
We did not have long to wait. The radiovisiphone
hummed, and the face of the squadron commander’s op-
erator appeared in the disc.
“We are hovering over the southern rim of Coseguina.
RN-337 hangs over the northern rim. RN-339 is above
the shaft. It descends. A huge sphere has come out to
meet it. They collide. The 339 falls, a mass of wreck-
age. Our machine gunners are spraying the globe with
bullets, as are those of the 337. It darts for the 337,
w T hich tries to elude it, but is brought down with one side
torn off. It is coming at us. Our commander has ordered
a retreat. It is too swift for us. It is almost upon us.
We are d ”
There was a terrific crash, and the disc went blank.
Tensely, we waited in from of the disc — the president,
the girl and I. It continued blank. Monteiro rushed into
the next room. I could hear him volleying orders.
S iddenly I was aware that my wrist was tingling.
Someone was trying :: :: me. I pressed the connection
of my wrist radiophone.
1 It 5t tart Mr St art I: was the voice of Reeves.
“Art Reeves I •!. "where are you?”
No: : : time. Called to warn you. That little
• mar. ; f rg moor: :: you. Keep him in darkness.
Leave at once. They’re coming for me. Must ”
"Quick!" I sail. "We must get out of here!”
Stripping the scarf from the table, I was about to
muffle the cage when something struck the window-screen
— ripped it away. A huge tentacle whipped into the
room. Clinging to it were four of the globular metal
creatures. One picked up the cage, a second seized the
girl, and the other two pounced upon me, gripping my
arms with their powerful tentacles. As helpless as if I
had been held in a steel vise, I saw girl and cage jerked
THE METAL MONSTER
349
out of the window and upward. Then the big tentacle
returned, wrapped around my waist, and dragged me
after them.
CHAPTER III
The City of Metal
I WAS thrown into a small, brilliantly lighted room.
A heavy metal door clanged shut behind me. To all
appearances the floor, walls and ceiling were con-
structed of seamless brown metal, without windows or
doors. Even the source of the light was invisible. It
seemed to radiate from the six metal surfaces that sur-
rounded me.
On the floor lay the girl, a look of terror in her eyes.
Bending over, I lifted her to a sitting posture. The
floor lurched suddenly, and I sprawled beside her. Re-
covering my balance, I asked :
“Are you hurt, senorita?”
“No, senor, but I am very frightened. Where are we?”
“If I’m not mistaken,” I replied, “we’re riding in one
of the swift flying globes of the metal people.”
In a few minutes there was a second lurch, followed by
a sudden jolt that threw us both flat. Then a door opened
in the apparently solid wall, and four of the metal
creatures came in. Helping us to our feet, they hustled
us out upon a platform constructed from brown metal.
It was part of an extensive system of docks, along which
hundreds of the globes rested. Countless others were ar-
riving and leaving, from and for all points of the com-
pass. Far above these flying globes I could see, through
a dim haze, a great self-luminous dome — the ceiling of
this tremendous underground world.
But most amazing of all was the immense city of
gleaming white metal which surrounded the docks — a city
of glistening towers, walls and battlements, all metal.
But conductors led us to a queer brown-metal vehicle
— flat, with a hand-rail traversing the center longitudinal-
ly. In lieu of wheels, it traveled on four spheres, which
supported it on idling bearings. There w T ere no seats.
Our captors, after bundling us aboard, indicated that we
must stand, gripping the rail in the center.
The vehicle started smoothly, accelerating with great
rapidity. I was unable to see any controls, and none of
our captors seemed to be driving or steering it. Emerging
from the dock, we rolled out on a broad, smooth street,
paved with brown metal. Many vehicles like that we oc-
cupied were traversing this street, some of them at ter-
rific rates of speed. Some had passengers, some carried
materials of various kinds, and some were empty.
Moving in and out among the vehicles, and often
traveling at even greater speeds, were thousands of sil-
very metal globes of divers sizes. I noticed some of
them no larger than buckshot, while others were easily
ten feet in diameter. I saw them, from time to time,
stop at the entrances of buildings, put forth arms, legs
and heads, and enter. Others, coming out of the build-
ings, retracted their limbs and heads and rolled swiftly
away. I judged them to be factories, and afterward con-
firmed this belief.
We passed a building under construction, and I saw
that it was being put together in the same manner as the
metal shaft I had seen rising in Coseguina — the bodies
of thousands of these strange creatures being utilized as
building material.
Presently we drew up before a metal wall about fifty
feet in height. Two massive gates, which had previously
appeared as part of the wall itself, swung back, reveal-
ing a winding metal roadway which led to an immense
building that stood in the center of the most unusual
garden I have ever seen.
Instead of grass, flowers, shrubs and trees, it was filled
with mosses, moulds, fungae, lichens and other thallo-
phytic growths. Short velvety gray moss carpeted the
lawn. There were clumps of huge mushrooms and
morels, of many shapes, sizes and colors. But the most
striking of all were the varieties of gigantic slime moulds.
The leocarpus fragilis with its gleaming golden spore
cases shaped like elongated eggs, a mycetozoan on the
borderland between the animal and vegetable kingdoms,
grew to a height of ten feet. Globe-shaped physariums
attained a diameter of three to four feet. And the dusky
plumes of the stemonitis, massed in large clumps, waved
twenty feet above our heads. Not so pleasing to look
upon were the slimy, gelatinous plasmodia of the various
species, flowing sluggishly about in the areas to which
they had been confined, questing the food which they
must have in order to produce the beautiful plumes,
globes, baskets and ovoid spore cases of mature ones.
They were all creatures of the darkness — conceived
and developed without sunlight — unable even to exist
in the direct rays of the lord of the solar system, but
multiplying and growing prodigiously, here in this weird,
pale light of the nether world.
We came to a stop before what looked like the un-
broken wall of the building, but here again a previously
invisible door opened, revealing a circular doorway about
fifteen feet in diameter.
Here we left our strange vehicle, and walked between
our guards along a narrow corridor until we came to a
great central foyer which evidently reached to the top
of the building. Looking up, I could see galleries encir-
cling it at each level, clear to the top. On the floor of
this room near its center was a ring of black discs, each
about ten feet in diameter, encircled by a narrow rail-
ing. Our captors led us out on one of these and directed
us to grip the railing, whereupon it shot up into the air
with considerable speed, then slanted over toward one
of the higher balconies.
Peering over the railing, I saw that we were being
lifted by a gigantic segmented tentacle emerging from
the floor where the disc had been. After we had been
deposited on the balcony the disc swiftly returned to its
original position.
M ANY round doors opened on the balcony, and we
were conducted through one of these along a cor-
ridor to a second, much larger doorway, on each side of
which stood two guards carrying metal tubes. They
paid no attention to us as we were ushered into a mag-
nificently furnished room which contrasted oddly with
the plain brown metal corridors and foyer. The foyer
was thickly and richly carpeted, the walls were decorated
with murals near the bottom and bas reliefs above, and
the ceiling was of luminous yellow metal, which shed
a soft, amber light over the whole scene.
At the far end of the room a figure reclined beneath
a green and gold canopy, upon a luxuriously cushioned
dais raised about three feet above the level of the floor.
As we drew near the throne, the figure sat up. I gazed
aghast at the thing that confronted us.
350
AMAZING STORIES
At first I thought it a living human skeleton, but as
we drew closer, I saw that its flesh and skin were trans-
parent, its bones and teeth translucent, and its viscera
and nervous system opaque. Its immense head, fully
twice as large in proportion to its size as that of any
earthly man, was encircled by a jewel-encrusted gold
band, which supported an immense emerald at the cen-
ter of the forehead. It wore no clothing, but its waist
was encircled by a belt of golden links from which a
dagger with a jeweled hilt, and several other instruments
or weapons, I knew not which, depended. Its feet were
enclosed in pointed golden slippers.
The horrible creature arose as our conductors brought
us to a halt, and stepped forward to examine us. It
poked me in the midriff with an inquisitive, gelatinous
finger, pulled down my chin to look into my mouth, and
felt my arms and legs. Wherever it touched me, it left
prints of slime very much like those left by a garden
slug. Its fingers felt cold and clammy.
Having completed its examination of me, the thing
returned to its dais and reclined. Then, to my surprise,
it addressed, or seemed to address me in English.
“I am disappointed in you, Walter Stuart. Although
my other prisoner, Arthur Reeves, looked up to you as a
leader, you are one of the creatures of the lower order.
And your cranial capacity precludes the possibility of a
brain large enough to receive and retain the higher train-
ing. Are there no creatures of the higher order upon the
outer crust of the earth?”
“I take it,” I replied, “that you consider yourself a
creature of the higher order.”
“I rule the creatures of the higher order,” was the
reply.
“These men of metal?”
“No, small-brained one. They are machines of my in-
vention. I rule the people of my race — the higher
order of creatures — the Snals. With the aid of my
metal creatures, my Teks, I conquered the inner world
— brought every Snal nation under my rule. They are
irresistible, my Teks, when I direct them. I am Zet,
conqueror and emperor of the inner world.”
“I am puzzled to know,” I said, “how you learned
English.”
“Your brain is even more deficient than I suspected,”
said Zet. “Our conversation is one of thoughts, not
words.”
“But I am speaking, and you seem to speak,” I in-
sisted. “I can hear you.”
“You can speak and hear in a dream,” said Zet, “yet
you actually do neither. Call this a. dream if you like.
Or bring up, if you wish, those other words in your
mind — telepathy or clairaudience. Our subjective minds
are conversing without the employment of physical
means. The conversation is instantly transferred to the
objective consciousness.
“But who are you to question Zet, ruler of the inner
world ? Answer my question.”
“There are no Snals on the outer crust of the earth,”
I said. “It is dominated by creatures called men, of
which I am a specimen.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Zet. “I had hoped to find
creatures of a higher order to conquer. But the outer
crust will make a mighty empire — and I can set my Snals
to rule over these inferior animals called men. It may be,
too, that we can improve the race. Perhaps my nobles
will take some of your females into their seraglios, thus
founding a new race. Our bodies are more fragile than
yours. Your brains are inferior to ours. A fusion of
the races may prove of great benefit to both. It is
worth trying.”
“I’m not so sure that our brains are inferior,” I re-
torted. “On the outer crust people born with heads as
large as yours are usually imbeciles.”
“And in the inner world, people born with heads as
small as yours are invariably microcephalous idiots,” he
said, apparently unruffled. “But it may be that I can use
you. I’ll have you examined by my scientists. 1 couldn't
use your assistant, Reeves. He disobeyed my first order
and communicated with you. To disobey is death.”
“You mean you killed him?”
“I did not slay him in anger, as you seem to think. He
was turned over to my scientists for a thorough physical
examination which they were very anxious to make. He
was the first man they had ever seen, and they desired
to take him apart.”
“And they did this while he lived?”
“Partly. I understand that he died shortly after the
examination began.”
Vivisection! Poor Art Reeves cut open alive! And
at the order of this big-headed, slimy monstrosity be-
fore me. Furious anger fired me— quadrupled my strength
for the moment. With a sudden jerk, I twisted my arms
free of the metal tentacles that held them, and leaped for
the dais. My fingers ached to clutch the gelatinous
throat of the thing that had ordered his death.
With lightning quickness, the hand of Zet jerked a
small tube from his belt — pointed it at my breast. I
felt a terrific shock, as if a powerful electric current
were passing through my body. My muscles grew rigid
— immobile. I seemed rooted to the floor. Then the
two Teks leaped forward, seized my arms and dragged
me back to my original position.
Zet replaced the tube in his belt.
“So,” he said, “you are even more of an animal than
I suspected. In one instant, you permitted your emo-
tions to completely overthrow your reason. I doubt if I
can use you. But my scientists will find out while I
examine this other creature, which appears to be a
female.”
I saw the girl shudder as Zet arose and walked toward
her. Then, struggling futilely, I was dragged away by the
two Teks.
CHAPTER IV
The Battle
M Y TWO metal captors took me down the cor-
ridor and out upon the balcony. Here they
placed me on a railed black metal disc similar
to that which had lifted us from the first floor, and we
were hoisted to the second balcony above. Then they
led me down another corridor, and through a circular
door into a large room in which more than a hundred
Snals were working, some seated at tables, others stand-
ing before high benches on which were flasks, tubes,
retorts, immense magnifying glasses, and much other
paraphernalia I did not recognize.
I was conducted to a square, glassed-in room in the
center of this vast laboratory, where a Snal with a head
even larger than that of Zet, sat at a metal table. This
room, with its glass partitions, was so situated that he
THE METAL MONSTER
351
could look into any corner of the laboratory without
leaving his seat.
Fastened to a metal band that encircled his head was
an immense lens that covered both eyes and most of his
nose, so magnifying those hideous features that they
were out of proportion with the others, and creating a
most grotesque effect.
The two Teks forcibly seated me in a gray metal chair
across the table from the Snal, and departed. I was sur-
prised that this slimy, gelatinous individual would allow
me in his presence without the Teks to guard me, but
learned the reason when, under his steady gaze, I tried
to shift to a more comfortable position. I was as firmly
attached to the metal chair, which was in turn attached
to the floor, as if I had been bound with steel bands. Yet
the invisible force that held me did not manifest itself
except when I tried to shift my position on the chair.
The Snal stood up, squinting at me through his huge
lens. Through his transparent body and his translucent
ribs, I could see his heart beating, his lungs inflating and
deflating, and his stomach expanding and contracting as
it disposed of his last meal. It was evident from his
demeanor that he thought me an exceedingly queer look-
ing creature. The feeling was mutual.
“You have been sent to me for examination, Walter
Stuart,” he said, finally'. “I am Hax, chief scientist
of the Snal empire.”
“I suppose you'll take me apart to find out what makes
me go, as you did poor Reeves,” I replied.
“You say ‘poor Reeves,’ ” he answered. That is bad.
It indicates the exercise of emotion, rather than reason.
No, I do not intend taking you apart — not just now, at
least. You are to be tested mentally.”
He pushed a shiny metal sphere on the table before
me. Suddenly it appeared to become transparent.
“A good beginning,” said Hax. “You have the vision.
It may be that we can use you. Step into this scene.”
Suddenly, as I gazed into that metal globe, I felt my-
self drawn into it— felt that it had enlarged until it was
as high as the sky.
I was moving — walking on a metal stairway. Globes
were rolling up beside me, becoming Teks, springing up
to the top of a wall. In my hands — not hands, tentacles
— I held a bent tube from which gleaming liquid metal
poured forth each time I pressed a small button on the
side. My torso was spherical — a shining globe of metal.
When I had cemented the globe in place I waited for
another to climb up beside it. Meanwhile, I glanced over
the rim of the wall. It was level with the crater rim of
Coseguina. And between me and that rim, thousands of
other workers like myself were building a metal city on
the sloping sides of the crater. Their animated build-
ing material was coming up the shaft in a steady stream,
rolling up a spiral ramp that had been constructed at one
side. On the crater rim, a great metal dome was rising
— swiftly closing inward and upward toward the center
with amazing rapidity — shutting out the daylight from
above.
Reflecting the sunlight from their shimmering sides,
?. dozen huge, flying globes slowly' circled overhead.
The vision suddenly faded. I was back in the labora-
tory, glued to the metal chair — a human being once
more.
“You have followed well,” said Hax. “Now let me see
if you can control.”
From beneath the table he produced two electrodes on
insulated wires. He directed me to grasp one in each
hand. Then once more the globe before me became clear
— expanded.
I was in a huge warehouse at the peak of a pile of
metal globes. I was a metal globe! I could look out
through my own metal torso as if it had been a pane of
glass.
“Descend.” A voice came from somewhere beside me,
yet I saw no one.
I rolled from my position, and down the side of the
pyramid of globes. When I was half way down, the
voice said : “Stop.”
I halted, clinging to the slanting surface by some mag-
netic force which I was able to control.
“Let go.”
I shut off the force, and rolled to the floor,
“Walk.”
I thrust out leg and arm tentacles, put forth my metal
head with its great goggling eyes, and scrambled to my
feet.
“Back to your place.”
Suddenly retracting head and limbs, I rolled back
to the top of the pyramid and lay still.
The vision faded. Once more I sat in the laboratory
before this strange scientist.
“You can control,” he said. “That is good. If you
can do this there are others of your race who can also
do it. Your mind is unusually strong considering the
smallness of your brain. We can use you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For that which you have just done. To control a Tek.
Every Tek, large or small, is controlled by a Snal. By
using your people to control the Teks, we will release
thousands of Snals for other, more intellectual duties, to
which their greater minds are suited.”
“You mean,” I said, “that you intend to make slaves
of my people — slaves who will labor with their minds
rather than their bodies?”
“Of those who can pass the test, yes. The others will
go to feed the plasmodia of the slime moulds which we
cultivate for food. Thus we can make use of all. There
will be no waste. We are efficient, we Snals.”
“Perhaps. But you haven’t conquered mankind, and I
don’t believe you will.”
“In order that you may entertain no false hopes,” said
Hax, “I’ll show you what is now transpiring. Watch
the globe.”
I did. It suddenly became transparent. I was a
goggle-eyed Tek, seated high in the air in a metal room
situated in a great dome which covered the crater Cose-
guina. The work of building had been completed with
incredible swiftness. I was surrounded by metal, yet I
had Hie power of looking through it at any point by
flashing a special ray from between my eyes.
A FLEET of twelve battleships was approaching from
the south. They flew the flag of Nicaragua. An-
other fleet of seven, flying the flag of Honduras, ap-
proached from the north, across the Gulf of Fonseca.
The two fleets deployed, and formed a semicircle, front-
ing the isthmus on which the volcano was situated. From
the land side an immense army approached behind a long
line of great, rumbling tanks. And two fleets of mighty
aerial battleships closed in above, attended by several
hundred relatively small but exceedingly swift helicopter
electroplanes.
352
AMAZING STORIES
Suddenly, as if every gun in the attacking force were
under single control, a terrific bombardment began. Shells
from the battleships and artillery rained on that metal
dome. Immense bombs were dropped by the aerial bat-
tleships and electroplanes. Projectiles of smaller caliber,
from seventy-fives down to thirty-forties, rattled against
that great hemisphere of gleaming metal. But not one
shell or proj ectile so much as dented it.
This bombardment lasted for perhaps five minutes
without interruption, and without any visible effect on
the great dome. Then, suddenly, a thousand doors that
had hitherto appeared to be a part of the solid metal,
opened. From each door emerged a flying globe. Like
a swarm of angry bees defending a hive, they hurtled at
the attackers. Bullets rattled and shells burst against
them without effect.
Two globes descended on a Nicaraguan battleship,
one above the fore deck, the other near the stern. Long
metal tentacles slithered down, gripping the front and
rear turrets. And down these tentacles swarmed the
Teks. They plunged into the turrets — down the ladders.
Each Tek, as it emerged, dragged a human prisoner. One
by one these prisoners were passed up into the globes.
The Teks followed. The tentacles were drawn up. And
the battleship, out of control, traveled aimlessly in a
circle as the globes returned with their prisoners.
This scene was, at the same time, being enacted on
all the other battleships. Other globes seized the aerial
battleships with their powerful tentacles, boarded them,
took off the men, and left them to drift unguided, or to
crash. One by one the electroplanes were caught and
denuded of men. The army attempted to retreat, but
this was quickly prevented by a row of globes which
formed on the ground, stretching across the peninsula.
The Teks swarmed everywhere. Men were pulled out
of the tanks — dragged away from the field pieces, or
caught as they attempted to flee or hide.
All the battleships were circling erratically. There
were several collisions. One- ship went down, rammed
by another. Aerial battleships and electroplanes were
continually crashing to the ground or falling into the
Gulf and the ocean. Huge tanks, driverless, climbed
the peak as far as the edge of the dome, stood up, grind-
ing at the shimmering metal, and fell over backward,
their motors roaring, to tumble down the steep slope
they had climbed, and smash to masses of twisted wreck-
age at the bottom.
In less than thirty minutes after the bombardment
began, the last globe returned to the dome. And so far
as I could see, not a single one of the fighters who
had attacked so valiantly by land, sea and air, was ieit
to tell the tale.
CHAPTER V
Slavery of the Mind
T HE scene faded. Once more I was back in the
laboratory with Hax. His colorless, glass-like
eyes leered at me through the huge lens.
“You see,” he said, “how hopeless it is for mankind
to resist us. We are invincible.”
“You have but defeated the forces of two small na-
tions,” I replied. “The earth has not yet begun to
fight. Her scientists will find a way to defeat you.”
“Her scientists are weak-minded children, compared to
the most ignorant Snals,” he said, contemptuously. “They
are creatures of a lower order, fit only for slaves. And
you will go now to begin your slavery with the rest.”
Two Teks suddenly appeared behind me. Seizing my
arms, they lifted me from the chair and hurried me
away. As I left the laboratory the mocking laughter of
Hax followed me.
The Teks took me out of the building the way I
had come. One of the queer, rolling vehicles was wait-
ing. My hands were forced down on the central rail,
which glowed as if with some radioactive force. They
stuck there, and try as I could, I was unable to remove
them.
We passed through the gates in the wall, and threaded
the city streets to a great, large structure near the cocks.
A number of other similar vehicles with glowing hand-
rails were waiting around the building. And th : a sands
of prisoners, disembarking from arriving glebe?, were
being herded into this building by the Teks.
Others were being driven out of another entrance I
noticed that some were forced to grasp the shining hand
rails, while others were bound, hand and foot, with wire,
and stacked on the vehicles like cord wood. At first I
saw only soldiers, sailors and airmen, wearing the uni-
forms of Nicaragua and Honduras. But the glebes
presently began to disgorge loads of civilians— -men.
women and children, whites, mestizos, Indians an i 1 1 eg-
roes, evidently taken in raids on the nearby territcry.
The vehicles, loaded with their human freight and
each presided over by a Tek, began to form in a I : r.g
line. When a train of about six hundred had been f armed,
we left. All traffic had evidently been stopped to let
us through, for although I could see many vehicles on
the other streets those through which our leader piloted
us were deserted.
The vehicle in which I was riding was a half mile or
so behind the one which led the procession. About half
of the vehicles were loaded with the bound prisoners and
half with those held by the luminous hand rails. A load
of the poor bound wretches was just ahead of me. I
could hear their piteous moans. Their wrists and ankles
were so tightly bound with wire that they were cut and
bleeding. And those at the bottom of the pile were
crushed by the weight of the ones above them.
Our train soon passed through the city, and out upon
a great metal causeway that stretched above a weird and
unusual landscape of grotesque thallophyrlc growths.
These were in orderly array, and tended by busy Teks.
Among the cultivated plants I saw a number of varieties
of gigantic slime moulds. They were cultivated in pits
about twelve feet in diameter, set in rows with metal
runways between them. Some of the pits contained
great masses of naked, polynuclear protoplasm — the plas-
modia which would later develop into adult slime moulds.
As we passed along through these fields I noticed that,
from time to time, one of the cars containing the bound
human beings was shunted off the causeway and along
one of the tracks which ran between the plasmodium
pits. Watching one of these as we sped past, I saw
the Tek lift a bound human being and hurl his helpless
victim into one of the pits. At the next pit he stopped
and repeated the process. The grim prophecy of Hax
was already coming to pass.
The men who were fastened on the vehicle on which
I rode numbered about twenty. There were five naval
officers, five seamen, eight Indians and two Negroes. The
'HE METAL MONSTER
353
man just ahead of me wore the uniform of a lieutenant.
“What did they do to you in the round building, Senor
Lieutenant?” I asked him in Spanish.
“We were given a test to see if we could control those
metal creatures, senor,” he replied. “Those who could
not pass the test — many of them women and children —
were bound with wire. It is horrible. What are they
doing with them?”
I told him. He ground his teeth and cursed luridly.
Presently he asked:
“And what will they do with the rest of us?”
“As long as we can serve,” I replied, “we’ll probably
be slaves. After that, food for the plasmodia.”
Of the six hundred vehicles that left the city, about
three hundred drew up before a great, dome-like build-
ing. The others, with their wire-bound victims, had
been shunted away to the slime mould farms.
A great circular door opened in the apparently solid
wall of the building. The Tek who presided over our
vehicle shut off the current in the rail, releasing our hands.
Then we were herded into the building with the others —
whites, mestizos, Indians and Negroes, men and women,
mixed indiscriminately.
The first room in which we found ourselves was an
immense lobby which encircled the building. This room
proved to be the living and sleeping quarters of the Snal
workers, whose places we human slaves were to take.
While one-half of the workers labored in the inner rooms,
the other half slept and took recreation in this apart-
ment. Their bunks were metal cylinders about three feet
in diameter and seven feet long, stacked three rows high
along the outer wall. They contained no padding or cov-
ers, and were as private as gold-fish bowls. The tired
workers, without bothering to disrobe, crawled into them
and stretched out on the cold metal when ordered to do
so by their overseers. They crawled out again to re-
ceive their meagre rations and to resume work rvhen
their sleep period had elapsed.
The overseers wore round, pointed helmets and com-
plete . suits of scale-armor made from a dull-surfaced,
dark brown metal. Their weapons were paralyzing ray
tubes, like that which Zet had used on me, and queer,
double-edge weapons, the blades of which looked like two
meat-axes welded together, back to back, with handles
about eighteen inches in length hooked at the end to
hang from their belts ; they carried slender metal rods
about eight feet in length, the pointed ends of which con-
tinually glowed at a red heat.
W E were forced to disrobe and don the coarse
aprons. In each apron were two pockets, one of
which contained a glass flask and the other a shallow
bowl. As fast as we donned our slave raiment, we were
driven in single file past a counter, where we were issued
water in our flasks and a thick, jet black porridge, which
I afterward learned was made from the spores of a
species of slime mould, in our bowls. It had a rank,
musty flavor, and I could not stomach it at first, but as it
was the only food given us, we had to eat it or starve.
Most of us eventually got so we could consume the
portions served us, although I doubt if anyone really
learned to like the stuff.
After we had been given our garments and rations,
we were herded into the immense central control room.
The floor of this room rose in circular concentric ter-
races conforming to the contour of the domed roof
above, and ending in a small round platform occupied
by the chief overseer, who could thus look down on
the entire workroom.
Set against the faces of the terraces were curved tables.
Twenty workers were seated at each table, gazing into
their control globes and gripping their electrodes. Each
table was presided over by an armed and armored over-
seer, who gazed into a large globe mounted on a tripod,
in which he could watch the collective activities of the
Teks controlled by his workers. A worker, caught
shirking or making an error, was punished by a searing-
touch from the red-hot point of the overseer’s long rod.
I was assigned to a seat between two Snal workers,
and noticed that this arrangement was maintained with
the other slaves — first a Snal, then a human slave.
The young lieutenant who had ridden on the same
vehicle with me was seated just beyond the Snal at my
right.
At a sharp command from the overseer, I grasped my
controls and gazed into my globe. I instantly found
myself a Tek, operating a gigantic mechanical shovel
‘ that was scooping up what looked like white sand from
the floor and walls of a huge pit and dropping it into
vehicles with globe-w 7 heels and hopper-shaped bodies.
These vehicles, each operated by one Tek, moved past in
a steady stream as fast as I filled them with the white
sand. One immense shovelful sufficed to fill each vehicle.
Other Teks labored nearby with similar mechanical
shovels. The vehicles, I noticed, were all moving toward
a great structure some distance away, from which col-
umns of smoke or vapor were rising, and from which,
at times, lurid flashes of light gave a blood-orange tint
to the surrounding landscape and to the vapors that
floated beneath the great vault, high overhead.
It dawned on me that this white sand must be a
metallic ore — a salt of some metal — and that the building
to which it was being taken was a smelter or refinery.
As I sat there working, it seemed that I developed the
faculty of being two places at once — thinking two sets of
thoughts at the same time. Objectively, I sat and worked
in the control room. Subjectively, I operated the me-
chanical shovel. It was like playing a piano and singing
at the same time— or perhaps more like singing an air
and playing a violin obbligato. Doing two things at once,
one objectively, the other subjectively, yet conscious of
doing both.
The Snals had permitted me to retain my wrist
chronometer, though my radiophone was taken from me.
They had learned its use when Art Reev.es had sacrificed
his life to warn me — all to no avail.
The chronometer showed that our day was divided
into two periods of about ten hours each — a work period
and a rest period. The work period lasted for ten solid
hours without intermission, nor were we permitted to
take our hands from the electrodes even for an instant
during that period. When the work period was finished,
the second shift of workers was ready to take our places.
We were then issued water and black porridge, and per-
mitted to roam about in our living quarters for about an
hour. At the end of the hour, however, we were per-
emptorily ordered into our sleeping cylinders for eight
hours. We were then ordered out, fed and watered, and
at the end of another hour, marched into the control
room to relieve the shift that had been working while w r e
slept and rested.
The division in which I worked, labored unremittingly
354
AMAZING STORIES
at digging and loading a seemingly endless desert of
white ore. I learned from workers in other divisions that
some of them were engaged in smelting the ore, some in
building metal cities and warehouses, others in building
flying globes, and still others in transporting materials
and prisoners through the streets of the subterranean
cities and along the metal causeways that connected them.
With the aid of my chronometer I kept careful track
of the outer world time.
Within two weeks after my arrival, every worker
Snal in the building had been replaced by a human slave.
The only Snals remaining were the armed and armored
overseers.
I often thought of Dolores Monteiro as I had last seen
her, shuddering before Zet, the slimy emperor of the
nether world, and wondered what had become of her.
She was a lovely creature, and unspoiled, despite the
adulation she had always received.
Although certainly not human, Zet greatly resembled
a human being in form. He had spoken of an experi-
ment — an attempt at crossing the races. And I feared
that the beauty of this girl might have tempted him to
force her into his own seraglio. The thought was revolt-
ing. And the uncertainty was almost as maddening as
the definite knowledge would have been.
During the hours after and before the sleeping periods,
I used to walk around the building, scanning the faces
of all the white females. At the end of a month I was
still looking for her, but looking hopelessly.
Then, one day, I was startled by the familiar sound
of a girl’s voice behind me!
“Senor!”
' CHAPTER VI
The Treachery of Lak
I T was Dolores Monteiro who had called to me. She
was wearing the coarse slave apron, but even in this
rough garment she was ravishingly beautiful. My
heart stood still as I looked down into her eyes for a mo-
ment, scarcely realizing that the object of my long quest
stood before me.
“Senorita !” I exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you
everywhere.”
“And I for you,” she replied. “When were you sent
here ?”
“That first day,” I answered. “And you?”
“Shortly after you left me standing before Zet,” she
replied, “But this is an immense place — almost a
city.”
“Then Zet did not harm you?”
“No,” she replied, “but I will never forget the feel of
his cold, slimy hands on me.” She shuddered at the
memory. “It was nauseating. Ugh !”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “But didn’t he do or say any-
thing else?”
She answered me, almost in a whisper.
“That is the reason I had to find you. He did say
something else, and ordered me not to tell. To disobey
him is death, they say, but I must confide in you.”
“Don’t say it,” I warned her.
“But I must. There is a reason. He said I would be
sent away with the other slaves for the time being, to
learn to work and to become accustomed to the ways
of his people. But he said, also, that he would give posi-
tive orders that I should not be harmed, for someday
soon he would honor me by sending for me.”
“You mean ”
She nodded despairingly.
“I should kill myself at the first opportunity, of
course, but I wanted to find you first — to tell you, the
one person I know and can trust in this horrible place, so
that if you live and some day meet my father and
mother you can tell them the truth. They might other-
wise think that I — that I went willingly. And there is
no hope of escape. So you see why I had to tell you.”
“ ‘While there is life there is hope,’ ” I quoted. “Don’t
give up. Will you meet me at this spot after the work
period ?”
The call to work sounded as I spoke.
“I’ll be here,” she replied, and hurried away.
Some moments later I sat down at my work table,
my senses in a whirl. My electrodes lay untouched be-
fore me, until a searing pain on my bare shoulder and
the smell of my own burning flesh brought me to a reali-
zation of my surrroundings.
“To work, quickly!” snarled my overseer, “or there
will be a worse burn.”
I snatched the electrodes, and with my shoulder
smarting from the touch of the red hot rod started my
Tek at its apparently endless task of shoveling white
ore.
The young naval lieutenant, whose alert, snapping,
black eyes missed very little, saw ray punishment and
forgot, for a moment, to watch his globe. During that
moment I saw his Tek topple from the platform on
which it was working and fall into the pit.
With an angry roar the overseer seared the lieuten-
ant’s back.
“Dolt !” he thundered. “Get that Tek up at once, or
I’ll burn you to a crisp.”
What happened after that took place so quickly that
it was all over in less than a minute.
With a roar as angry as that of the overseer the pep-
pery young lieutenant dropped his electrodes, stood
erect, and sprang at the throat of his tormenter. So
quick and unexpected was the attack that he was almost
upon the astonished overseer before the latter realized
what had happened.
Snatching his paralyzing ray cylinder from his belt,
the Snal pointed it at the lieutenant, freezing him in his
tracks. Then he stepped back and with a fiendish grin
at his helpless victim thrust the red hot point through
the brave lad’s heart. Withdrawing it deliberately, he
shut off the paralyzing ray, permitting the body to slump
to the floor.
This exhibition of cruelty so filled me with rage and
revulsion that I was. tempted to hurl my globe at the
Snal’s head, and follow the throw with an attack. But
the thought of Dolores deterred me. She would be
waiting for me — -expecting me to meet and help her.
Another slave was thrust into the lieutenant’s place,
and his body was carried out by two Teks.
“Take heed, slaves, from the death of your fellow,”
said the overseer, “and rebel not against authority lest
you share his fate.”
Dolores met me at the beginning of the rest period,
and we went together for our food and water, then sat
down on the stone floor to eat.
Before we had finished eating, a number of Teks came
in, bearing the sections of a huge metal screen, which
THE METAL MONSTER
355
they welded smoothly together and set up in the middle
of the floor. Several Snals came a short time thereafter,
and connected it with a complicated-appearing machine,
while the slaves flocked curiously around.
When their work rvas finished, a life size image ap-
peared on the screen. It was Zet, ruler of the nether
world, his emerald diadem sparkling above his slimy
features.
He began to speak and every voice was hushed. To
me, he seemed to be speaking English. Dolores told me
afterward that she thought he was speaking Spanish.
And a Misskito Indian I later interrogated was positive
the great “Glass Face” had spoken his native dialect.
Zet told us that the screen had been installed for our
entertainment and information, and that, through it.
he would keep us constantly posted on the progress of
his conquest of the world. We would thus be made to
realize, he said, how hopeless it would be for us to rebel
against the fate which nature had intended for us — that
of serving the Snals, who were as superior to us as we
were to the beasts we had domesticated. He ended by
promising that those of us who served faithfully and
well would be rewarded later, when his empire was es-
tablished, by easier work and positions of power among
our fellows.
Zet’s image faded from the screen. It was followed
by that of another Snal — a short, stocky individual,
whose ornaments were richly powdered with jewels.
“I am the Voice,” he said. “ I speak for Zet. Lord
of the Inner and Outer Worlds. Behold the progress of
his conquests.”
T HE image faded and a large map of the Americas
appeared on the screen.
“The portions marked in green are under the domin-
ion of Zet,” said the Voice. “He moves slowly but
surely, taking what he wants when he wants it.”
From the northern border of Mexico, through Central
America, Colombia, Ecuador and Venezuela, the map
was shaded green ! And all this in thirty days !
The map faded, and in its place we were shown mov-
ing pictures in full color. Managua, rebuilt capital of
Nicaragua, was shown first In the heart of the city
rose an immense metal dome — shiny and incongruous,
like some false growth appearing on the fair body of
the earth. We were shown a glimpse of an inner room
of the great dome. President Monteiro and his staff
were here, guarded by Teks and bullied by an armored
Snal who seemed to be Zet’s vice-regent of the nation.
There were other, flatter domes near the outskirts of the
city. Beneath these, beds of slime mould had been
planted. They were being tended by human slaves, and
fed both with the bodies of men and domestic animals.
Just outside this ring was another, in which were taller
domes like the one we were in — control buildings in
which human slaves toiled with their minds, that the
Teks might work the will of their Snal masters.
We saw flashes of other capitals, each with its great
shining dome centrally located, and its encircling rings
of metal-covered slime mould beds and control buildings.
Bogota, Caracas, Quito, Mexico City, San Jose, San
Salvador and the rest, all were under the yoke of the
conquerors.
Teks rolled about the streets — swarmed everywhere,
searching out human victims to be dragged before the
conquering Snals, who remained in their huge metal
buildings or in the flying globes. Tiny Teks no larger
than pin heads spied on the people unseen. Conspirators
against the tyranny were thus quickly detected, captured
and fed to the plasmodia.
We were shown the northern battle front, where the
United States had stretched a huge army from gulf to
ocean to protect its territory. It was not a battle, but
a farce, in which the Teks were sent out at will of the
controlling Snals, to drag men from the trenches, the
tanks, or the decks and cabins of aircraft, and whirl
them away in the flying globes, against which the most
powerful weapons of the world were powerless. New
weapons were being tried — oxy-acetylene flame-throw-
ers — that would cut through steel plates as if they had
been paper — bombs, loaded both with nitric and sul-
phuric acids, in the hope that these might prevail against
the obstinate metal. But they had no more effect on it
than water has on glass.
Some of these things we saw. Some were told to us
by the Voice. But I do not think there was a man or
woman in the building who was not convinced of the
truth of all of them, and the utter hopelessness of our
situation. Man’s knell of doom had sounded. His
place in the sun was being slowly but surely wrested
from him by these slimy intelligences of the nether
world.
The South American republics had also extended a
great defensive line across their continent. But it was
even less of an obstruction to the conquerors than that
of the United States.
After each work and sleep period, Dolores and I met
at the same spot. We would eat our block porridge to-
gether, then go and stand in front of the screen to learn
the latest news of the earth’s conquest.
In another thirty days the southern half of the United
States and more than half of South America were under
the sway of the Snals. The opposing armies had been
completely routed, and most of their field equipment de-
stroyed. Our screen was tuned in with exploring globes
flying over the areas as yet unconquered. And they
showed people fleeing northward in every means of con-
veyance at their disposal. Canada swarmed with refu-
gees. Air- and water-liners loaded to capacity were
leaving for Europe, Africa and Asia. And the advance
of the metal menace continued steadily, relentlessly.
Dolores came to mean much to me — more than the
whole world. I had never told her, had not more than
touched her hand. But she could do more with her eyes
than can most girls with arms and lips.
It was because of the hopelessness of our situation
that I did not speak to her of love or marriage. I sus-
pected, however, that she knew of my love, and dared
to hope that she returned it.
I always looked forward to my meetings with her as
the only bright spots in this career of mental drudgery.
Like those of the other slaves, my brain was being
turned into a machine to work the will of the Snals.
And it might have become as dulled and listless as did
the others had it not been for her bright companionship.
During those first two months the Snal overseers
began to select women from among the slaves to share
their quarters with them. Each overseer had a private
apartment, jutting out from the outer wall of the build-
ing at its base. These apartments were set at intervals,
clear around the building, and where their round doors
were placed, no sleeping cylinders were piled. Some
356
AMAZING STORIES
went fearfully, under the threat of the red hot torture
rods. But many preferred to die in agony.
A number of overseers had asked for Dolores — my
own, a tall fellow named Lak, among them. But the
head overseer had his orders. She was to be saved for
Zet until such time as the ruler should send for her,
unless Every overseer knew that she had been com-
manded to keep this secret from the other slaves — that
if she disobeyed, death would be the penalty. And each
overseer combined in his person, the powers of judge,
jury and executioner.
Many times I noticed Lak watching us furtively when
we were together. Once I turned, and saw him stand-
ing close behind us as we watched the news screen. But
even then, I did not guess his purpose.
It was, when I had computed that about two months
of earth time had passed, that I eagerly sought our
rendezvous after a work period, but Dolores was not
there. I waited more than ten minutes, but she did not
put in an appearance. Then I noticed a Misskito In-
dian, seated nearby licking his porridge — smudged
fingers and eyeing me significantly.
“You look for white senorita?” he asked.
“Yes. Have you seen her?”
“In there,” was the laconic answer. He pointed with
his porridge-smeared thumb to the door of Lak’s apart-
ment.
CHAPTER VII
The Subterranean Jungle
I LOOKED cautiously about me. None of the Snals
seemed to be watching my movements. Endeavor-
ing to appear unconcerned, I walked slowly toward
the door of Lak’s apartment. It took less than a minute
to reach the edge of the pile of sleeping cylinders. Again
I glanced slowly around. So far as I could see, neither
Snal nor slave was paying any attention to my move-
ments.
Dodging into the passageway between the piles of cyl-
inders, I tiptoed to the door. It was closed, but gave
when I tried the fastening. I opened it cautiously for
a little way. Lak was standing with his back to me,
holding Dolores by her shoulders. Neither could see
me.
Entering soundlessly, I closed the door.
Lak was saying :
“You have earned death, slave-girl, but I can save
you. Only I heard you tell the secret of Zet to the
slave-man. You must make your choice now — your life
or the love of Lak.”
I had heard more than enough. With a single bound,
I stood beside them. Seizing the armored shoulder of
the Snal, I spun him half around.
His burning rod stood in a rack, but his chopper and
paralyzing ray cylinder still hung from his belt. With
a grunt of surprise and anger, he grabbed for the lat-
ter. But his visor was up and I swung for his face.
The result was astounding — and sickening. My arm
was buried, half way up to my elbow in his great round
head. My fist had crashed through his nose and the
frontal bones of his face, clear into his, huge, mushy
brain.
With a feeling of intense disgust, I withdrew my
arm, and the metal -clad body clanked to the floor. As
best I could, I cleaned the slime from my arm with a
coverlet dragged from Lak’s luxurious sleeping cylinder.
Dolores, who had bravely faced her persecutor to
the end, now collapsed, with her face in her hands, and
began weeping softly. I was about to try to comfort
her, when I noticed something sputtering on the floor
at her feet. Puzzled, I bent forward to investigate.
A great tear trickled down between her fingers — fell
to the metal floor. And where it struck, the sputtering
commenced anew, while beneath it a patch of white
crystals was forming.
The floor, unlike that of the main building, was made
of the white metal that had defied shells, solid shot, oxy-
acetylene flames and two of the strongest acids known
to man, yet here it was, changing to a white powder be-
neath a woman’s tears. After each tear drop fell the
sputtering soon ceased. But the white spots spread
with amazing rapidity. Presently, several of them ran
together, then collapsed, revealing the wild thallophytic
growths of subterranean jungle about ten feet below
the floor. The hole widened rapidly, the metal flaking
away in white crystals. It undermined the body of Lak,
and it fell into the undergrowth while Dolores and I
looked on amazed.
“A way out!” I exclaimed. “Come on!”
After dropping Lak’s burning rod, I swung down on
the edge of the still-widening orifice, and let go, alight-
ing in the muck among the soft growths, with scarcely
a perceptible jar.
Dolores bravely followed, and I caught her in my
arms.
I stripped off the overseer’s belt, which contained his
paralyzing ray cylinder and chopper. When I had it
strapped around my waist, I caught up the burning rod,
and we hurried away through the grotesque fungoid
growths.
A few steps took us out from beneath the building,
which stood on metal stilts set into the soggy soil. As
we emerged under the luminous dome of this strange
underground world, the light grew much stronger and
the vegetation taller.
Soon we were hurrying through a forest of thick
slimy trunks, some of them eight to ten feet in diame-
ter at the base and fifty to sixty feet in height — the
stems of colossal mushrooms. Often we found our way
blocked by these immense fungoids which had crashed
to the ground, and for the remains of which, lichens and
slime moulds of many varieties contended. Giant mosses
of endless shapes and hues formed most of the under-
growth, and algae dominated the thousands of stagnant
pools. From time to time the immense, umbrella-shaped
caps overhead opened their gills to discharge millions of
spores that glittered in the queer phosphorescent light
as they swirled downward to settle over the weird land-
scape.
The animal, as well as the vegetable kingdom, was re-
presented in variety and profusion. The lower orders
dominated in size as well as in numbers. Fat, gray
slugs, three feet and more in length, fed on the juices of
the various plants about us. Snails of infinite variety
and immense size left their slimy trails everywhere.
I recognized glass snails, amber snails, agate snails, and
most striking of all, great ramshorn snails as tall as
camels.
Insect monstrosities buzzed busily about, or scamp-
ered over the moss. An immense thousand-legged worm,
THE METAL MONSTER
357
fully twenty feet in length, startled us as it crossed our
path. A huge green beetle as large as a Shetland pony
charged us with its huge four-foot mandibles distended,
but backed up and hastily scampered away at a touch
from my searing rod. A mosquito, as large as a crane,
buzzed about us for some time, until I killed it with a
lucky thrust through the head.
The air was heavy with the musty odors of the fun-
goid growths, the sickening charnel scent of the slimy
creatures that lived in their moist depths, and the reek
of decaying organic matter.
Stumbling, slipping, sliding, sometimes sinking knee-
deep in clinging muck or splashing through water above
our waists, we pressed onward, our sole desire being
to put as much distance as possible between ourselves
and the slave quarters.
As we hurried along I pondered much on the miracle
that had wrought our deliverance from the apartment of
Lak. What could there be, I wondered, in this woman’s
tears, that had destroyed a metal which had defied pro-
jectiles, explosives, heat, and powerful acids? In this
solution of this mystery lay the key to the door of
knowledge which, if once opened, would deliver the
world from bondage.
And why, I wondered further, had this mircale not
been wrought before? Surely many of the captured
woman and children had dropped tears in the metal
globes, on the metal vehicles in which they had been
hauled, and on the tentacle-like arms of their captors.
Then I recalled that the room in the globe that had
brought me in, a prisoner, was of brown metal, as were
the bodies of the vehicles in which we had been carried,
and the highways over which we had traveled. The
arms of the Teks, although of white metal, were of a
duller cast than the globes and heads, as were the tables,
globes and electrodes in the control room. The floor
of the building, except in the private apartments of the
overseers which jutted out over the jungle, were of
stone.
But all this did not explain the enigma.
After five hours of wearisome travel, we were glad to
stop and sit down on the moss for a breathing spell. I
took a drink of water from my flask. It was nearly half
full. I shuddered at the thought of having to drink the
foul, stagnant water we had encountered. Dolores also
drank some water and replaced her flask in her apron
pocket.
“I’m hungry,” she announced. “Do you suppose any
of these plants are edible ?”
“No doubt,” I replied, “and it’s equally probable that
some of them are so poisonous that a mouthful or two
would prove fatal. The question is, which are poisonous
and which are edible. We have no way of knowing.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“We may run across some of the varieties of slime
moulds that the Snals cultivate for food,” I replied.
“Their spores are good to eat. And in the palace gardens
I saw some gigantic morels. I think we would be safe in
using these for food if we could find any. In the outer
world the morel is the one mushroom form that is never
poisonous.”
“In that case,” she said, “let us look for morels.”
Rested by our brief pause, we resumed our journey.
Presently the character of the vegetation changed as
we came out of the marshy country to higher and drier
ground. The moss was replaced by short, white snake
grass. And huge, jointed reeds began to take the place
of the tall mushrooms.
We had not gone far when we came to a group of
large mounds uniformly about fifty feet in diameter and
twenty feet high.
“I’m going up and have a look around,” said Dolores,
and suited her action to her words by scampering up
the side of the mound. She had not taken more than
five steps when one foot broke through into a compart-
ment underneath. She withdrew it with a scream of
pain, and came running toward me, her knee bleeding.
Then a white thing about eighteen inches in height,
popped out after her and pursued her on six rapidly
moving legs. Behind it came another and another, and
I recognized them for what they were — giant termite as
large as pet bulldogs and ten times as dangerous.
I ran toward her, my burning rod ready for action,
but before I reached her a veritable army of the formi-
dable creatures came rushing toward us from around
both sides of the mound, their great hooked mandibles
snapping menacingly.
“No use to argue with those things,” I shouted. “We
wouldn’t have a Chinaman’s chance. Can you run?”
“And how !” she replied, passing me like a bullet.
I was not slow to follow, but I soon saw that we were
being outstripped by the swift, six-legged creatures De-
hind us, and that it would only be a matter of a few mo-
ments before we would be pulled down and torn to
pieces.
“Climb something.” I cried. “It will be our only
chance to hold them off.”
Dolores leaped for the nearest jointed stalk, and
scrambled up, I at her heels, just as the foremost term-
ites came snapping up behind us.
I thrust the point of my burning rod into the open
mouth of the leader, and sent it tumbling back on those
behind it. Then an astounding thing happened. There
was a roar overhead as if a dozen helicopter blades had
suddenly gone into action, and the stalk to which we
were clinging left the ground with amazing rapidity.
I glanced upward and saw the reason. Instead of a
scaly plant stalk, we were clinging to the slender, seg-
mented body of an immense insect ! And already we
were so high above the ground that to let go would mean
certain death !
CHAPTER VIII
Monsters of the Nether World
T HE huge insect to which we were clinging flew
off with incredible speed. Its immense wings,
which when quiescent I had taken for the spatu-
late leaves of a strange subterranean plant, whirred so
rapidly that they were invisible. The creature itself
greatly resembled a titanic dragon fly, with its massive
head, great bulging eyes, and long, relatively slender
body. It flew at an elevation of about a .thousand feet,
and watching the ground, I calculated that it was carry-
ing us at a speed of over a hundred miles an hour.
Clinging to the rim of the huge segment with one
hand, and gripping the round body with both legs, I
watched the rapidly changing landscape beneath us.
Presently, all signs of vegetation ceased, and we were
flying over a barren, gleaming white area of dunes and
hollows.
358
AMAZING STORIES
On the next segment in front, Dolores was clinging
tightly with hands and arms, and I noticed that she,
too, was anxiously watching the landscape below. I
shouted to her, but she could not hear me because of the
whirring of the huge wings. And I could not creep
nearer to her without danger of losing my grip on our
living aircraft and pitching to sudden death below.
So occupied was I in watching the landscape beneath
that I did not notice the immense black thing, flashing
downward at us from above, until it struck. Huge teeth
sunk into the thorax of the giant dragon fly, just back
of the head. Its wings quivered, then hung limply. It
.was a swift, clean kill. We were borne swiftly aloft
in a steep spiral and I had an opportunity to observe
the thing that was carrying us. It was an immense,
black-skinned hairless bat. The body of the insect
trailed almost vertically, making it much more diffi-
cult to hang on than when it had been flying hori-
zontally. It appeared that the giant bat had not even
noticed us, taking us for part of its victim’s body.
As we spiraled higher and higher, the light grew
stronger above us, while the outlines of the ground be-
low became more and more blurred and indistinct.
Up and up we went through the drifting, diaphanous
mists until we were just under the luminous dome of
this weird nether world, fully five miles above the
ground. My eyes were dazzled by the brightness of the
rugged, luminous, and probably radioactive stone that
formed the vault.
The bat hovered for a moment beneath a huge jagged
opening in the dome. As it did so I saw that there were
a number of similar openings nearby. Then it flew
upward and to one side, alighting in a self-illuminated
cave about a hundred feet square.
I wondered why the monster had not devoured its
victim on the wing as outer world bats habitually do, but
I realized the reason when two of its offspring, which
had been hanging upside down from a ledge at the back
of the cave, fluttered to the floor and rushed toward the
parent, screeching and flapping excitedly.
The adult bat laid the insect on the floor with us
still clinging to it, then turned and dived back through
the opening.
Judging by the size of the parent, the two youngsters
that were rushing toward us were about a quarter
grown. But this did not prevent them from being ex-
ceedingly formidable antagonists, for each stood more
than ten feet in height, and was armed with long sharp
teeth as well as wicked looking claws on wing joints and
hind feet. Dolores and I both sprang to our feet and
backed away as they pounced on the insect and began
feeding voraciously, as if each feared that it would get
less than the other would.
My first impulse was to look for some way of escape
while the two immense youngsters were occupied with
their feast. Bidding Dolores secrete herself behind one
of the boulders that cluttered the floor, I made a care-
ful search, circling behind the young bats and return-
ing in front of them. They watched me with their black,
beady eyes, but evidently did not think me quite as
tempting a morsel as the insect.
Having assured myself that there was no way out of
the cave except that by which we had come, I returned
to the boulder with the beady eyes of the bats still fol-
lowing me as they finished the remains of the ill-fated
dragon fly.
Our situation appeared utterly hopeless. There we
were, five miles above the surface of the nether world,
and we knew not how many uncounted miles below the
surface of the earth, imprisoned with two hungry beasts
larger and more formidable than the greatest of the
outer world carnivora. Moreover, we might expect at
any moment, the arrival of one or both of the parents —
creatures four times as large as the ones we now faced.
There seemed little question but that the young bats
would attack us, and that was quickly resolved, for as
soon as they had finished their feast and licked their
chops for a moment, they came hopping and flapping to-
ward us.
With Lak’s paralyzing ray cylinder in my left hand,
and his burning rod in my right, I leaped up on the
boulder, behind which Dolores crouched.
As soon as they were within striking distance, both
of them reached out to seize me, whereupon I held the
one on my left with the paralyzing ray and lunged at
the other with the burning rod. I struck for the eye,
but the beast dodged and the point seared itself into the
hunched shoulder, instead.
With a siren-like shriek of rage and pain the burned
creature jerked back out of reach of the point, toppled
on the edge of the entrance for a moment, and then
fell, squawking and fluttering, down the steep shaft.
As it had not learned to fly, it was undoubtedly dashed
to pieces on the ground five miles below. At any rate,
I did not see it again.
The other young bat, held by the powerful paralyzing
ray, stood helplessly while I plunged the point of the
burning rod into its heart. Then, as I withdrew the
rod and shut off the ray, a shudder ran through its frame
and it toppled over on its back, dead.
A LTHOUGH we had vanquished our immediate ene-
mies, we were a long way from being out of our
predicament.
Dolores came out from behind the boulder, and to-
gether we examined the fallen monster.
Presently she said:
“Tell me the truth, Wallace. Is there no way out?
No hope of escape?”
“I’m afraid not,” I replied.
“Then we are to die here together. It doesn’t matter
how. We’ll be slain by the mother bat when she returns,
or perhaps by her mate. Even if you conquer both
monsters with the weapons of Lak, we’re trapped here
to die of hunger and thirst. In one case it will be a
matter of a few hours, the other a few days. Am I
not right?”
“It looks that way,” I replied, kicking absently at the
tip of one of the webbed wings, my head turned away to
hide my feelings.
“Wallace ! Look at me !”
I turned, and she came up very close, her glorious face
upturned to mine.
“Wallace, isn’t there something you would like to say
to me before we — are taken by death?”
There was that in her eyes which sent the hot blood
coursing through my veins, and made me forget the peril
in which we stood. The burning rod clattered to the
floor of the cave as I crushed her to me — claimed her
sweet lips.
“But, Wallace. You have said nothing,” she panted.
“I can’t make you pretty speeches,” I replied, “nor can
THE METAL MONSTER
359
I croon sweet love songs. But I love you, Dolores. You
know that now.”
“I have known it all along,” she confessed, “but I
wanted to hear you say it. Dios, how I love you, my
big American! And we are to die so soon.”
Her arms went around my neck — clung there, and she
buried her face in my shoulder, weeping softly.
Desperately I looked about me. There must be a way
out. I must think. I must plan.
Suddenly an idea came to me.
“Don’t cry, dear,” I said. “I think I’ve hit on a plan.”
“What is it?” she asked eagerly,
“There is enough material in the webbed wing of that
young bat to make a parachute that will carry us both
to the ground,” I said, “and I’m going to try to make
one.”
“I’ll help you,” she replied. “Let’s work fast. The
mother bat may come back at any moment.”
Using Lak’s keen, two-edged chopper, I quickly
severed the immense wings from the body. In the
webs there was material enough for our purpose, and to
spare. I cut a number of long strips to serve as rope,
and with these, Dolores stitched the larger pieces to-
gether, punching the holes with the tip of the burning
rod.
When I had exhausted the supply of web which we
could spare for this purpose, I skinned the immense
carcass, and cut the hide into strips two inches in
width. I fastened the ends of these around the edge of
the parachute, while Dolores finished her job of fasten-
ing the larger pieces together.
This work completed I drew all of our guy straps
together, and tied them to a ring-strap, cut trebly wide
that it might stand the extra strain. To this I added
a strong loop on each side, forming a swing seat for each
of us, and we stepped back to view the result of our
labor.
It appeared exceeding crude and awkward, but it
would be strong enough.
“Are you ready to make the jump?” I asked.
I slipped the loop of her swing strap around her, cau-
tioning her to hold on with both hands.
“We’ll drag the whole thing clear up to the edge,” I
said, “then jump out away from the ledge as far as pos-
sible. Otherwise the 'chute may catch on the edge and
swing us back against the face of the rock.”
Luck had favored us thus far by the prolonged ab-
sence of the mother bat, and I wondered, as I arranged
the folds of the ’chute on the rim of the abyss, if it
would fail us now.
For a moment I strained Dolores to me in a farewell
kiss. Then I caught up the burning rod, and with a :
“one, two, three !” we leaped.
For several seconds we hurtled downward at a breath-
taking speed. The walls of the shaft vanished, and
we were shooting down through the mists of the nether
world sky, our speed unslackened. “It hasn’t opened,”
I thought. “We’re doomed.” But even as this thought
came to me, the guy straps suddenly tightened with a
jerk. One of them snapped and fell down, trailing its
wet inner surface over my shoulder. Our speed slack-
ened. A few seconds more, and we were gliding smooth-
ly downward. The immense web that had been designed
to support the huge body of the bat in flight easily
sustained us.
A CRY of exultation came to my lips, but it quickly
changed to an exclamation of horror as I sud-
denly saw, flapping toward us, the immense black bulk
of the mother bat. She was carrying a huge beetle in
her mouth, but dropped it as she came closer and
scented the hide of her dead offspring. With a horrible
shriek, more powerful and ear-splitting than the sound
of a steam siren, she dived straight at us, her immense
maw gaping, her lips drawn back in a hideous snarl that
revealed her big, ugly teeth.
I whipped the paralyzing ray cylinder from my belt,
and gripped both it and the strap at my left with my left
hand, while I couched the burning rod beneath my right
arm. I had my misgivings as to whether or not the rays
would have any effect on so huge a bulk, but it was our
only hope.
To my surprise and relief, it worked. The giant bat,
unable to move her wings, turned over and began hurt-
ling groundward in a nose dive. But she had not fallen
far before the rays ceased to affect her, whereupon she
righted herself and came back at us.
Again I turned the rays on her and again she
plunged downward, only to right herself and come back
as fiercely as ever. She repeated the process persis-
tently, and to my horror I noticed that she was able to
get a little closer each time. The battery was growing
weaker.
Presently she came so close that I thrust the burning
rod into her mouth. With a snarl, she clamped her huge
teeth down on it, snapping the metal shaft as if it had
been matchwood. She opened her mouth once more and
shook her head, attempting to dislodge the searing point,
but it had already passed her throat, and was burning
its way down into her vitals.
With a horrid, gurgling scream, she went into her last
nose dive, falling like a plummet. I saw her strike the
ground several seconds later, but we were drifting in an
air current that had, in the meantime, carried us some
distance to one side. I noticed for the first time that
we were above a huge expanse of glistening, barren
white dunes. A short time thereafter we alighted, sink-
ing to our ankles in a substance which I readily recog-
nized — the white crystals which my Tek had been load-
ing these many days, to be hauled to the smelter. It was
the material from which the Snals manufactured their
miraculously hard metal.
Disentangling ourselves from our straps, we set out
over the rolling dunes. As all directions were alike to
us, we set our faces toward what looked like a rugged
mountain range, some of the jagged peaks of which
pierced the clouds. Our water supply had dwindled to
a swallow apiece. And we were ravenously hungry.
For hour after hour, we plunged onward, through the
weird light of the changeless day. We stopped once,
exhausted, and slept for twelve hours by my chrono-
meter. Upon awakening, we drained our water flasks,
and pressed forward once more. But so great was the
distance of these mountains, which at first had only
seemed a few miles away, that they appeared to recede
as we advanced toward them.
Another four hours of walking, however, made the
outlines of the mountains bulk much nearer. And where
there are mountains, there are usually springs or
streams. After a brief rest, we set forth once more.
But it was not long before Dolores staggered and fell.
I tried to pick her up, and fell beside her. My strength
360
AMAZING STORIES
was fast waning. I tried to murmur a few words of en-
couragement to her, but my lips were dry — my tongue
so swollen that they sounded like the muttering of a
drunken man. It did not matter, however, as she had
swooned away.
After a brief breathing spell, I arose, and taking
Dolores in my arms, proceeded, carefully conserving
my strength and pausing at short intervals to rest.
We were less than a mile from the nearest mountain
when Dolores regained consciousness. She immediately
insisted that I set her on her feet. I did so, and found
that, after her rest she could make better progress than
I.
I was floundering along, so exhausted that I staggered
as if intoxicated, when suddenly she clutched my arm.
“Look !” she cried. “Water, just ahead !”
Together we stumbled out of the loose sands of the
white desert to a flat formation of lava rock. About half
way between us and the mountain we had made our ob-
jective, a small circular pool of water gleamed in the
weird light.
The sight renewed my strength, yet it seemed ages
before we reached the side of the sparkling pool.
“Take it easy,” I cautioned. “Bathe your face first,
and sip slowly.”
We threw ourselves flat at the -edge of the pool. I
bathed my parched face, then sipped up a few drops
from the hollow of my hand. But scarcely had the liquid
entered my mouth than I spat it out in dismay. It was
loaded with salt. Glancing at Dolores, I saw that she
had made the same disappointing discovery.
I sat up wearily — despondently — and she crept over to
me, resting her head against my shoulder.
“What a dreadful disappointment,” she said.
Suddenly I heard a familiar clanking sound behind
me. Glancing back, I saw a flying globe which had de-
scended, not fifty feet from us. The clanking sound was
caused by the long, segmented cable it had dropped.
Down this cable swarmed a score of Teks. Then they
spread out in a wide semicircle and ran toward us.
There was no mistaking their purpose. And no question
but what, if we were captured, Zet would impose the
death penalty on both. It would be as well to die fight-
ing.
I stood up, and with Lak’s chopper in my hand,
awaited the attack.
CHAPTER IX
The Escape
A S I stood in front of the briny pool, defiantly shak-
ing the chopper of Lak at the advancing Teks,
an idea came to me — an idea born of a theory
which I had been pondering since the tears of Dolores
miraculously opened our way to escape from the slave
quarters.
Our metal enemies were almost upon us when I bent
and, with my arm about her waist, helped Dolores up.
“Come,” I whispered. “Into the water.”
We turned and ran, splashing through the heavy
brine. A few steps, and it reached our waists. The Teks
splashed in after us. The circle was closing in at both
ends. Suddenly their metal torsos began to sputter and
pop, flaking away in a white powder wherever the brine
had spattered.
“Splash them,” I told Dolores, and used the flat of
the chopper to deluge those nearest me. She bravely
splashed those on her side. Presently a Tek stumbled
— sank beneath the surface. Above the spot the water
effervesced like champagne. Another sank — a third.
Two that had only been slightly splashed tried to make
the shore. I followed them, deluging them with brine.
They sank down, sputtering and melting away in the
shallows.
In less than five minutes the twenty Teks were a semi-
circle of wreckage, consisting mostly of neck, arm and
leg tentacles, covered with masses of fluffy white crys-
tals.
Dolores and I climbed up on the bank. Despite our
thirst and weariness we felt refreshed by our salt-water
plunge.
“If I could only fly that globe,” I said, “we might still
have a chance to get away.”
“Why, I can do that,” she said. “For the past forty
work-periods I have controlled a Tek flying a freighter,
which carried liquid metal from a smelter to a factory.”
“Suppose there are more Teks aboard,” I said.
“Not likely,” she replied. “A crew always consists of
twenty. The pilot could lock the controls and land with
the rest.”
“Well, we’ll take a chance, but with a little preliminary
preparedness,” I said. “Let me have your flask.”
She handed me her glass flask, and I filled both hers
and mine with salt water. Pocketing one, and carrying
the other in my hand, I walked up beneath the globe.
The cable did not, as I expected, whip around my waist.
“I guess you were right, after all,” I said. “Come on.”
She came up beside me, but scarcely had she done so
ere the cable swiftly wrapped around both of us, jerking
us up through the round door. It put us down upon a
floor of brown metal in front of a Tek that had one
tentacle on the control board.
“So, small-brained ones, you thought to escape me!”
The voice issued from the metal mouth, but I recognized
it instantly. It was the voice of Zet, emperor of the
nether world.
“We came near doing it, Zet,” I replied. “For small-
brained ones we didn’t do so badly.”
“Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! What foolish bunglers you are, to
be sure. To pit your puny intellects against mine. Ho !
Ho ! Ho ! But I must bring you before me. I would
pass judgment in person.”
The tentacle of the Tek jerked a lever and the door
clanged shut behind us. Our waists were still gripped
by the huge tentacle, but I could move my arms freely.
Suddenly uncorking the flask I held in my hand, I
splashed brine on the spherical body in front of me and
on the round head. Some of it ran down the head-hole
into the mechanism.
Globe and head began sputtering furiously — flaking
away as white powder.
“Fool!” said the metal mouth in the voice of Zet.
“I pass judgment now !”
The arm tentacle jerked a lever, and the huge cable
that encircled us, slowly tightened its folds, squeezing
the breath out of us. Drawing the chopper from my
belt, I struck at the tentacle that clung to the lever. It
sagged, but hung on. Again I struck, exerting all my
strength, and the blade severed it. Not being of the
hard, white metal, it was vulnerable.
With a corner of the blade I struck up the lever. The
THE METAL MONSTER
361
coils of the cables instantly loosed us. The Tek at-
tempted to swing around— to use the other arm tentacle.
But it was too far gone. It staggered and fell to the
floor with a shower of white powder.
Dolores sprang to the control board. She pressed
a lever, and the globe lurched violently as it sprang
upward. She moved another lever, and we settled down
to a straight course.
Above the controls two round lights hung on head-
straps. Dolores took them down, handed one to me,
and strapped the other around her head.
“If you will put that on,” she said, “you can look out
through any part of the globe with it. The invisible
rays are turned on or off simply by raising your eye-
brows.”
I strapped on my light and found that it worked as
she had said.
“Funny they left these things hanging here,” I said
“when the Teks have them already built into their
heads.”
“Sometimes the Snals fly these globes in person,” she
replied. “They are kept here for that purpose.”
I raised my eyebrows and my light clicked on. The
rays which emanated from it must have been effective
only for a short distance, for, though they made the
globe appear transparent, everything beyond it looked
perfectly natural. Looking downward through the
floor, I saw that we were above a jungle of primordial
growths. I was gazing at the queer plants and beasts
beneath us, when Dolores suddenly cried :
“A globe pursues us! We are discovered!”
“Slow up and let it come close to us,” I said. “Then
open the door.”
I had corked, and was holding Dolores’ flask, still half
full of brine. The other globe shot swiftly up behind
us.
I lurched over to the door and grasped the rail beside
it, holding the flask poised in my other hand.
“All right,” I shouted.
The door swung open. The other globe was now less
than fifty feet from us. I hurled the flask and had the
satisfaction of seeing it break against the pursuing globe,
scattering its contents over the gleaming surface.
The door clanged shut, but I continued to watch the
pursuing globe by means of my penetrating head light.
A sputtering white patch instantly appeared where the
brine had struck. Soon this was replaced by a gaping
hole with rapidly widening white edges, from which
fluffy crystals were flaking.
Dolores accelerated our speed and shot upward. The
other globe attempted to follow, but it was rapidly losing
power. Soon more than half of its surface had disap-
peared, exposing its mechanism and inner room, swarm-
ing with Teks. Another moment, and it hurtled ground-
ward, burying itself in the soft muck of the swamp.
D OLORES straightened our course once more
Ahead of us lay the metal city to which we had
first been brought — the capital of the nether world. And
about five miles to our right was a great cone of lava
nearly two miles high. Above this cone was the gleam-
ing mouth of a metal shaft which thousands of globes
were constantly entering and leaving.
“Steer for the shaft,” I said. “Perhaps we can bluff
our way through to the outer world. They can’t tell
who is in this globe, can they?”
“Not unless they use the penetrating rays,” she re-
plied, “and they can only do that at close range. I don’t
think we can make our way through. However, Zet will
expect us to try, and will be prepared.”
“Then we’ll try another way,” I said.
A moment later we plunged into the shaft — shot
swiftly upward. The speed of the globe was terrific.
I had no means of computing it. And because of this,
I had no idea how many miles of shaft we had traversed
when we suddenly shot up beneath the huge metal dome
that covered Coseguina.
Dolores brought the globe almost to a stop — hover-
ing uncertainly.
“Now where?” she asked.
I recalled my two visions of this dome — the first when
it was in the process of building — the second after it
was completed.
“Not the ports,” I said. “They’ll surely catch us
there. Fly close to the wall.”
She instantly brought the globe to within ten feet of
the arching wall.
“Open the door.”
As the door flew open I hurled my flask of salt water
at the wall. The flask shattered, spreading the brine
over an area about ten feet in diameter.
Another globe, apparently noting our strange actions,
shot upward toward us to investigate. Dolores saw it,
closed the door, and flew away, circling the huge dome.
A second globe rose to cut us off. Then a third and a
fourth. Dolores managed, somehow, to dodge all of
them. Soon the dome swarmed with flying globes, all of
which looked alike. We were darting in and out among
the others, and I doubt whether more than one or two
of their pilots had any idea which globe we were in.
Several globes collided, bouncing apart like billiard balls,
but undented and apparently unharmed.
Twice we flew past the rapidly widening hole in the
dome where I had hurled the salt water, but each time
it was too small for us to squeeze through. Then we
were herded away from it by the other globes for several
minutes. By dint of much skillful manipulation on the
part of Dolores, we managed to get back to it. This time
there was room to spare.
“At last !” I cried, as we shot out into the sunlight
which we had not seen for more than two months.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Dolores. “Now where shall
we go?”
“Get some altitude,” I replied. “Then we’ll look
around. We must find a place to hide, first of all.”
Far out on the Pacific, I saw a rain storm coming.
“Quick!” I said. “Into that storm!”
A long trail of globes was after us, and more were
continually emerging from the dome like a cloud of
angry wasps. We plunged toward the storm. In less
than two minutes we were in it. At least a thousand
globes were on our trail by that time, but once we got
into the thick clouds, they could not see us, nor we them.
We veered off sharply to the right, traveling at tremen-
dous speed. Presently our globe popped out of the
clouds into the sunlight once more.
Coseguina had been left at least a hundred miles be-
hind, and we were traveling toward the northwest, near
the coast of Salvador.
Looking downward, I suddenly spied beneath the
water, the slender, shadowy forms of a fleet of sub-
marines — about twenty in number.
362
AMAZING STORIES
“If I only had my wrist-radiophone,” I said.
“I managed to keep mine,” said Dolores, and reach-
ing into the coils of her dark hair, she extracted it and
handed it to me. “I thought it might be useful in an em-
ergency” she added.
“It certainly will,” I responded, working the call
plunger and constantly changing the wave lengths, say-
ing each time: “Ahoy, submarine fleet.”
Presently I got a reply. “Who calls the fleet?”
“Wallace Stuart,” I responded, “in the flying globe
above you with Senorita Monteiro. We just escaped
from the Snals.”
“Come closer, and show yourself at the door, Wallace
Stuart,” was the reply.
Dolores dropped the globe to within a hundred feet
of the water. She pressed the lever that opened the
door, and I leaned out gripping the hand rail. Then the
submarine just beneath us began to rise. Presently its
tower emerged from the water. Then up came its tur-
rets, rails and deck. A hatch swung open, and two
men came out. One wore the uniform of a U. S. na-
val officer. The other was in civilian clothes. To my
surprise I recognized my former assistant, Pat Hig-
gins.
“Pat!” I shouted down to him. “What the devil are
you doing on the iron fish?”
“Secretary Black ordered me to bring him the Cose-
guina films in person,” he said, “when he heard you
were captured. But after I got back I enlisted in the
naval air service and came down here to do some scrap-
ping. I was lucky enough to dodge the globes until
yesterday. Then one, bad cess to it, cut me down. My
pontoons saved me until this ship came along and took
me off. So here I am. It’s sure good to see you alive
and well again, chief.”
While he was talking, Dolores had gently lowered our
globe until it swung just a few feet above the deck.
She locked the controls, and came over beside me, where-
upon both men instantly doffed their hats. I dropped to
the deck of the submarine and gave her a hand down.
Pat introduced me to the officer, Rear Admiral Eldridge,
in command of the fleet. I introduced the officer to
Dolores, and we all went below. A few moments later
the ship submerged, leaving the globe to drift aimlessly
a few feet above the surface of the Pacific.
Our first request, as we were ushered into the admiral’s
cabin, was for water. We drank eagerly, but sparingly.
Then I told the admiral the amazing secret of the sup-
posedly indestructible metal.
“Salt!” he exclaimed. “Who would have thought it?
And here we have had millions of tons at our disposal
without thinking to try it !”
“I believe it’s really the chlorine that does the trick,”
I replied. “The metal, I know not what to call it, must
be an element unknown to our outer world chemists.
In its natural state it is combined with chlorine, forming
a white salt. This white salt is mined, with the chlorine
removed, leaving the basic metal, which is in the form
of an impalapable powder. This powder is mixed with
a liquid preparation, forming a colloidal solution that
acts much like cement. The liquid evaporates quickly,
leaving the solid metal, the particles cohering because
they have regained the water of crystalization lost in the
refining process.”
“But what causes the rapid action of the salt on the
metal ?” asked the admiral.
“The chlorine in the salt,” I said, “apparently has a
much stronger affinity for the strange metal than it has
for sodium. As soon as the two come in contact in an
aqueous solution, the chlorine is torn away from the
sodium, to unite with the other metal, forming the
white crystals which are the chloride of the metal, and
in which state it is stable in nature. The effervescing
is caused by the escaping hydrogen displaced by the
sodium as it unites with the water to form sodium
hydroxide. It is plain that but very small quantities of
of chlorine are necessary for the conversion of large
areas of metal. It may be, also, that the process, once
started, mysteriously rejuvenates itself in some way, like
the mysterious ‘disease’ which attacks and often destroys
old bronzes that have come in contact with saline solu-
tions.”
“We’ll let the theories go for the present,” he replied,
“and broadcast the news. We’ll tell ’em to use salt water,
but also to try chlorinated water, potassium chloride,
calcium chloride, hydrochloric acid — anything they hap-
pen to have handy that is a chlorine compound or
solution.”
“Have they captured Chicago yet?” I asked.
“They have every big city in the United States,” he
replied, “and many of the smaller ones. But they haven’t
taken the radios out of the homes, nor the salt. Excuse
me while I broadcast. Boy, there’s going to be some
revolution !”
He went out to the radio room, and a steward brought
in two large, juicy steaks, to which Dolores and I did
full justice during his absence.
When he returned I submitted a plan which had oc-
curred to me for attacking Coseguina. If it worked as
I hoped it would, the communication between the upper
and lower worlds would be severed forever.
All the rest of that day we were preparing for the at-
tack — loading shells with wet salt and preparing special
salt water bombs for the six small diving electroplanes
which clung to the deck of each submarine. And while
we made our preparations, we cruised slowly toward our
objective.
CHAPTER X
The Revolt
I T was dark, and a steady rain was falling when we
hove to about a mile from Coseguina Point. The
huge metal dome above the crater gleamed brightly
with each recurring flash of lightning. The rest of the
time it showed merely as an immense, dark bulk, except
at rare intervals when its lighted ports opened to admit
or let out flying globes, speeding on the errands of the
slimy lord of the nether world.
The upper works of twenty-four submarines silently
emerged from the surface of the water. And like a
frightened covey of quail there suddenly rose from the
decks a hundred and forty-four diving electroplanes,
their props and helicopters whirring.
There was an interval of four minutes, during which
every submarine swung broadside, thus presenting simul-
taneously its front and rear turret guns toward the
enemy.
When the four minutes were up the bombardment
commenced. At first only the flashing of the guns and
the bursting of the shells and bombs were visible, but
THE METAL MONSTER
363
soon great holes through which the light escaped be-
gan to appear in the dome.
Out of the dome swarmed the globes by thousands.
But after a few volleys, the fleet again began to sub-
merge. By the time the globes arrived, all were safely
beneath the surface. The electroplanes, also, were well
concealed, flying about in the rain clouds, high above
the fast-dissolving dome.
The fleet now lined up with every prow pointed to-
ward a narrow inlet that cut into the shore line. Some-
thing shot from the prow of the flagship and, traveling
just beneath the surface, streaked straight for the inlet.
It had not gone more than a quarter of a mile before a
second torpedo from the boat next to it shot out with
the same objective. The other boats discharged their
torpedoes, each in turn, keeping them about a quarter
of a mile apart.
Just as the fifth torpedo was launched, the first one
struck the shore. There was a terrific explosion the
shock of which came back through the water, jarring our
ship tremendously. But when the debris had settled, the
inlet was deeper by a full eighth of a mile. The second
torpedo, following the path of the other unswervingly
despite the agitation of the water, blasted away another
eighth of a mile of earth, leaving a great hole into which
the water rushed. And following these in rapid suc-
cession came the others, swiftly cutting a huge canal
an eighth of a mile in width from the Pacific straight
through the lava-clad shoulder of the volcano.
The great dome, meanwhile, was swiftly melting away
— crumbling to white powder which was washed down
by the rain. And whirling erratically about it, like may-
flies around a street light, were the mighty fighting globes
of Zet — impotent, utterly helpless against this attack by
enemies they could not see or reach.
It took forty-five torpedos to blast the canal all the
way to the shaft. But long before this was accomplished
most of the huge metal dome had melted away.
With a swift rush of swirling waters, the mighty
Pacific surged into the crater — formed a whirlpool just
above the mouth of the shaft.
The diving electroplanes, no longer concerned about
the dome, began attacking the globes, using hollow bul-
lets filled with salt water in their machine guns. The
submarines stuck the muzzles of their anti-aircraft guns
up out of the water, and at _ each explosion of a well-
aimed shell one or more of the globes was spattered
with thick brine.
Flying globes, their shells eaten away as if by immense
white cankers, fell into the water around us by hundreds.
A few of them dived into the water-filled shaft. Several
others hurtled away, to escape in the darkness. But most
of them were destroyed.
The battle over, Dolores, Pat and I flew to Managua
in one of the' diving electroplanes. We found that the
people had received our radio message and had acted
promptly. The ring of flat domes that had encircled the
city was a circle of white ruins. And the immense dome
that had arisen in the center of the town was a mass of
brown metal wreckage covered with white powder and
strewed with the arm, neck and leg tentacles of defunct
Teks.
Much of this had been accomplished by wet salt, fired
from shotguns, rifles and pistols and much by hurled
bottles filled with brine.
W E found President Monteiro established in tem-
porary quarters until such time as a new capitol
building could be constructed. He wept as he embraced
Dolores and wrung the hands of Pat and me.
Messages were coming in over the radiovisiphone.
Everywhere the Teks, globes, domes and equipment were
being destroyed by the simple means we had discovered,
and the Snal overlords were being killed or captured.
In New York fireboats had sprayed brine on the great
dome that dominated Manhattan from its place on the
Battery, Everywhere globes and Teks had been
destroyed with brine-filled shells and hollow projectiles
filled with wet salt.
In Chicago the fire department had melted away the
huge dome that squatted in the center of the Loop, by
using chlorinated water. The metal shackles were drop-
ping from the world. Millions of human slaves were
being set free to return to homes and families.
While we were seated in President Monteiro’s office,
listening to the radiovisiphone announcements, a tall,
huge-headed Snal prisoner was brought in. He had been
riding in a flying globe, shot down by a band of Misskito
Indians. To my surprise I recognized Hax, chief scien-
tist of the Snals, who had been on a tour of inspection.
“So,” he said, eyeing me coolly as I stared at him in
surprise, “you discovered the secret of the metal. You
have done well for a small-brained creature.”
“The tears of a woman revealed it to me,” I replied.
“I don’t profess to understand the thing now.”
“The power of Zet is destroyed,” he said, “nor do I
greatly care. I was opposed to this conquest from the
beginning. Now I am cut off from my world forever. I
am willing to trade my scientific knowledge for a chance
to live and continue my experiments.”
“I believe the Associated Governments of the Earth
will grant you that,” said President Monteiro.
“I can make you flying globes,” said Hax, “that will
utilize the terrific power of the Earth’s magnetic lines of
force. I can show you how to construct metal servants
— Teks — that will respond to your thought waves as
readily as your own bodies. I can make you — ”
“I doubt,” said the president, dryly, “whether the world
will want any of these. We’ll see.”
“One thing I can’t understand,” I said, “is why the
crater of Coseguina cooled so rapidly.”
“I’ll explain that,” said Hax, blinking at me through
his huge lens. “We had always suspected the existence
of the outer world, but never were we able to reach
it. Our borings invariably entered strata of molten rock
too hot to work. We had experienced many earthquakes
and volcanic eruptions, but ours v T ere always above,
rather than below us. The vents always sealed them-
selves eventually by the slow cooling of the lava. But
after the terrific eruption of Coseguina, which had poured
out millions of tons of hot lava on the surface of our
world, forming an immense cone that reached almost to
the vault, our investigating scientists noticed that the vent
did not seal itself after the lava flow ceased, and that
our atmospheric pressure had increased as if another at-
mosphere had been superimposed on it.
“The vent was, at first, too hot for the Snals to in-
vestigate, but we sent our proxies, the Teks, in flying
globes. Having ascertained that it led to an outer world,
we cooled it swiftly with a spray of liquid helium — then
lined it with a metal shaft impervious to further incur-
( Continued on page 371)
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364
The Raid
of the Mercury
By A. H. Johnson
Ti/f 1ND-READ1N G may some time be proved not entirely unscientific, for it
IfJL is closely allied to thought transmission, or telepathy, which, according
to serious students of the subject, bids fair some day relatively soon to become
an established science. The chances are stacked high against any possibility that
crystal gazing will at any time become a science, but there is another element
in it — the element of awakening the subconscious, which, according to psycholo-
gists is ages old and has unlimited powers of penetration — which might be very
interesting. Our new author has done a clever bit of work in weaving into a
vivid tale this penetrative gaze into the possible future.
Illustrated by MOREY
A NECROMANCER has, or had until very
recently, an office on Sixth Avenue. In the
course of my business I used to pass his
office several times a day. I rarely did so
without a smile of amusement that so bare-
faced a fraud should be allowed to continue in these
supposedly civilized and enlightened times. The star-
sprinkled hangings, the odd statuettes — in a word, all
the paraphernalia of a charlatan and a quack — were
exhibited in his “Temple of the Mysterious,” as the
place was called.
Then, too, the votaries of the temple were cause for
amusement. Most of them were fat ladies with poodles.
They came in limousines and were bedecked with jewels.
I used to remark to myself that here was a wise ma-
gician who accepted only the rich as his clients. No
doubt he solved such problems for them as the nature of
their “astral bodies,” and why Fido had lost his appetite
for cream puffs.
One morning, as I was walking past, I saw a very
fat poodle waddle out of the place, followed by an
even fatter woman, accompanied by the necromancer
himself. The woman was emphatically demanding to have
the poodle’s horoscope cast and the magician resented the
idea as an aspersion on his dignity.
I could not forbear laughing silently at the scene, and
after the dowager had been driven off by a liveried
chauffeur, the magician turned his attention to me.
“You laugh, Meester Johnson,” he said. “Always
when you come by here you laugh. You think I am
what you call a quack? No?”
He was a fine looking old man. High narrow fore-
head, black flashing eyes, and a swarthy skin, marked
him as belonging to some eastern race. Just now his
face was flushed and it was clear that he was much an-
noyed with me, as I supposed, for fully realizing his
charlatanism. I was a little surprised at being called by
name, but I knew it was frequently the practice, of such
rogues as he, to obtain information about others and
then use it at the most effective time.
“Why don’t you cast the dog’s horoscope?” I asked
contemptuously. “No doubt it would be as accurate as
most of your others.”
His face grew still darker and then turned suddenly
pale.
“So, Meester Johnson,” he said, “you think I can not
365
366
AMAZING STORIES
look into the future or the past, that I am a quack, eh?
Come inside, Sar, and you shall have a little demonstra-
tion.”
I would have gone on, as I did not desire to become
further involved in argument with such a person, but
he said, “Meester Johnson, the explorer, the archeolo-
gist, the historian and writer, is afraid.”
It was now my turn to flush. I turned sharply and
brushing past the old man, entered his “temple.” He
conducted me through a kind of assembly room to a
small apartment hung with strange, rich, and somber
tapestries, and with a soft and thick carpet on the floor.
I remember that one of the tapestries represented the
“Twilight of the Gods” with the wolf Fenris raging
among them. On a small table was either a real skull
or a facsimile of one with a crystal ball set into the
top of it.
The magician motioned me to seat myself at one side
of this table, while he sat down at the other.
“Meester Johnson,” he said, “is noted for his articles
and stories dealing with long dead civilizations, and an-
cient cults, but he writes not of the future, yet he would
like to do so. He spends much time speculating about
the epochs to come.”
I started. How had this man fathomed a fact that I
had not even mentioned to my closest friends? I did
think of the future and ardently desired to know what
kind of a civilization would follow our own. My study
of ancient cults had trained me to think of life as a con-
tinuous chain in which the life of each individual is only
a tiny link. I had frequently attempted to portray life
in pre-historic times and it was my dearest wish to be
able to write an authentic story of the future. Not per-
haps a great story — I had no wish for the dusty laurels
of a realist. I wanted to write a story that would truly
represent life as it will be lived in some far distant era.
Barely taking time to enjoy my discomfiture, the old
man threw a little bluish powder into a charcoal brazier,
which immediately flared up. He placed it so that it was
in a line with the crystal ball from where I sat and
formed a kind of background for the ball.
“Look into the ball,” he said.
I looked ; at first only momentarily glancing, then I
gazed more deeply, and finally I looked with as great an
intensity as though my life depended on it.
T HE air liner Light of the Western Skies was taking
off from the docks in Great Manhattan. It was
shortly after sunset and people in the streets of the city
gazed curiously as it rose toward the last rays of the
sunlight. As the ship bathed itself in the dying light, the
band on the deck struck up a gay air. The Light of the
Western Skies was one of the largest airships in the
world. Her decks were crowded with people. On the
open deck, protected only by wind-screens, were the
control cabins, the gun emplacements, the promenade,
deck-chairs and dance platforms for first class pas-
sengers, and seats for the musicians.
It was a gay and careless crowd for the most part.
Officers and nobles in gorgeous uniforms, and carrying
jeweled orders, mingled with beautiful women dressed in
robes of textures and colors that would have made Cleo-
patra despair. Servants in the dark red uniforms of
the Consolidated Airships Company went to and fro
bearing refreshments and executing orders. Haughty
officers in the proud blue of the Myrmidons stalked back
and forth, clanking their swords and ogling any pretty
woman they happened to see. The Myrmidons them-
selves were at first grouped around their posts, some
near the guns, others in specially prepared positions, but,
as they saw their officers paying little attention to them,
they slipped down to the second and third class decks to
dance or talk with friends among passengers or crew.
In the depths of the ship, in hot and steamy compart-
ments, the slaves watched over the mighty engines. They
were careful, very careful, not to let the smallest accident
occur to the machinery, for if the most trivial injury oc-
curred, they would be severely punished. Their only
vision in life was to work and work until they died, hop-
ing only that they might escape as much punishment as
possible.
To an outside observer the ship might have presented
an analogy of Heaven. Earth and Hell — the top deck
was Heaven, where everyone possessed all that he could
desire, the middle deck, earth, where the employees of
the Airships Company and the lower class passengers had
quarters ; and the interior, hell, where the slaves labored
like black and grimy demons.
The ship followed fast in the track of the departing
sun but not even in the thousands of years that had
passed since man first learned to fly had airships reached
a speed sufficient to equal that of dawn or sunset. So in
an hour or two darkness overtook the ship. Brilliant
lights were switched on and the gaiety on the upper
deck continued unabated.
An hour or two after dark the lights were suddenly
extinguished and at the same time the speed of the ship
was greatly increased. A murmur of surprise and
consternation swept through the passengers. What
could be the cause of such unusual procedure? Soon
the word was passed around that a suspicious-looking
ship, which refused to answer any radio signals, had
been sighted by the lookout. The radio operators had
immediately attempted to send word to the patrolling
cruisers of the Airships Company, but the strange craft
had set up a field of artificially produced electrical waves
that prevented any intelligible messages from either being
sent or coming through. The passengers were advised
to go below to their cabins and the Myrmidons were
ordered to their combat posts.
The strange ship, at first barely visible in the light of a
rising moon, approached rapidly. There was the report
of a gun from its forward deck and a phosphorous shell
burst across the bows of the liner. This was the inter-
national signal to heave to. The liner answered by a
broadside of all its available guns. Several of the shells
were seen to burst on the strange craft, which could now
be made out as a swift cruiser.
It soon became clear in the struggle that followed that
the cruiser was to have much the best of it. It moved
almost two feet to the liner’s one. It maneuvered more
quickly and easily, and most important of all, it was
evidently commanded by an expert in aerial warfare.
The liner dropped, rose, circled and dipped — all to no
avail. The cruiser quickly obtained a commanding po-
sition above it, and swooped low over it, raking its decks
with gunfire. It was evident that they disdained to drop
bombs.
A few of the passengers on the upper deck had ne-
glected to obey the advice to seek the safety of their
cabins and now stood watching the conflict from the
partial shelter of companionway entrances and cabin
THE RAID OF THE MERCURY
367
doors. One of these was a young man dressed in a
white robe with a purple border, which proclaimed him
to be of the highest rank. He had taken no part in the
dancing and flirting which had occupied most of the pas-
sengers. At the time the lights were extinguished he had
been dictating to an enormous slave amenuensis. As
soon as he heard the explanation for putting the ship in
preparedness for battle, he had taken shelter in a cabin
doorway and remained an interested but imperturbable
spectator. Occasionally he made some observation on
the trend of events, seeming to speak rather to himself
than to the slave. Now, as it became apparent that the
keel guns of the cruiser were making it impossible for
the defenders to remain at their guns, he muttered to
himself, “The captain is a fool. If he keeps this up he
will soon have no men left at all. His only chance is to
order his men into shelter in hopes that the pirates will
be foolish enough to board.”
Seeing the captain in the shelter of a hatch some dis-
tance away, he coolly walked across the deck, disregard-
ing the fact that he was exposed to a very dangerous fire,
and communicated this observation to him. The captain
received his advice with great respect and acted on it
at once. The Myrmidons were ordered to leave the guns
and conceal themselves as best they might about the deck.
The sudden cessation of fire evidently puzzled the
attacking ship. It circled low over the liner in an attempt
to find the cause for the sudden abandonment of the de-
fense, and, apparently satisfied that the defenders were
practically routed, it finally came alongside and began to
land a boarding party. The young man, who, by the
tacit assent of the captain, seemed to have taken com-
mand of the defense of the liner, coolly waited until a
fair half of the boarding party had reached the deck and
then ordered the vertical propellers reversed, which
course violently wrenched the two ships apart, dropping
the liner a thousand feet or more. This course was
cleverly calculated to maroon the attackers so that they
might be overwhelmed before assistance could reach them.
- But the attackers showed their mettle. Instead of
waiting to be rushed by the Myrmidons, who were now
coming out of their hiding places, the others took the
initiative. Lead by a fair-haired, blue-eyed, young man
they rushed forward to the attack. Armed with the long
slightly curved swords, suitable for either cutting or
thrusting, which the experience of thousands of years
had s'r.zwn to be man’s most formidable weapon for
hand-:: -hard fighting, they surged forward in a shouting,
whoopir.g. cheering mass. The impetuosity of their
charge swept all before it for a time. The Myrmidons
were caught separated in small groups and were cut
separately. The sword play of the leader of the in-
vaders was a fearful and beautiful thing to see. Dressed
in the she belted tunic which is the uniform of all atmen,
and which admirably set off his perfection of bodily
strength, he moved among the defenders like a raging
god. Broad shouldered, deep chested, slender of waist
and hips, muscular of arm and leg, quick and graceful
as a leaping panther, his blade was repeatedly dyed with
the blood of the defenders. Using edge and point with
equal skill, he alternately beat down the guard of some
stalwart Myrmidon by brute force and then, pausing
only long enough to wrench his blade free, he would use
superior skill and speed to thrust the point deep into the
body of another. His blue eyes flashed with cold fire
and his lips were slightly curved in a mocking smile.
That he was not unknown to the defenders was shown
by an observation the leader of the defense made to the
captain.
“It is Prince James and his ‘revolutionaries,’ ” he
calmly remarked. “I thought as much after I saw the
skill with which the cruiser was handled. By Midas, he
is a noble fighting man !”
Another passenger also was watching the leader of
the invaders. She was a tall slender girl, who was
sheltered deep in the entrance of a cabin door. Evi-
dently of the highest rank, she was accompanied by two
or three slave girls who incessantly begged her to take
refuge in the depths of the ship. She refused.
“I must see this,” she said. “It is James and the
cruiser is the Mercury, I am sure. Is he not handsome,
Esmeralda? And he plays his part like a true man.
Had he but written me what he intended, I would have
come to his side, though he had been pronounced traitor
and pirate by all the nations on earth !”
Meanwhile the fight had commenced to go against the
young atman and his followers. The leader of the de-
fense had coolly allowed several groups of the defenders
to be routed in order to give him time to organize the
rest. Now this had been done and two cohorts were at-
tacking the invaders directly from the front, while sharp-
shooters and rapid-fire gunners poured in a destructive
hail of shot from the flanks.
The leader of the defenders, himself apparently un-
armed and taking no personal part in the struggle,
watched the consummation of his wise plans with con-
siderable pleasure. The invaders seemed to be on the
verge of being wiped out. But he had counted without
the interference from the cruiser. This ship now re-
entered the battle. It took up a position directly above
the liner and sprayed its decks with its keel rapid-fire
guns. The gunners on the lower ship were unable to
damage the cruiser from the bottom, as it was here that
its protective armor was thickest, and were soon forced
to desert their posts. The captain dropped, dipped,
and whirled his ship as rapidly as possible, in a mad
attempt to dislodge the cruiser from its commanding po-
sition, but in vain. The cruiser could maneuver much
more easily and it stuck to its position like a mongoose
to the neck of a cobra.
The defenders went down like grain before the reaper.
The passenger, who had assumed command, saw the
hopelessness of the situation and himself ran up the
white flag to the masthead and ordered the few remain-
ing defenders to throw down their arms.
The young atman of the invaders took command of
the ship and slowly dropped it to the ground. A few
minutes later the cruiser landed beside it. The field
where they landed was part of a boundless plain in the
middle west. Like almost all of the country, since men
had learned to make their food in factories, it was ab-
solutely void of all human occupation.
The lights were switched on. The crew of the
Mercury (which name could now be made out on the
hull of the cruiser) methodically searched the liner, re-
moving whatever they wanted in the way of food, am-
munition, clothes or other stores. On deck the atman
who had now been joined by a short thickset man,
dressed in the uniform of a chief gunner, who was evi-
dently his second in command, ordered the passengers
and crew of the Light of the Western Skies lined up
for inspection.
368
AMAZING STORIES
As he walked slowly down the line, he saw the leader
of the defenders and stopped with a cry of surprise.
“Well,” he said in a cold voice, “this is a piece of
luck. Lothaire, Prince of the Second Cycle, Vice-Pon-
tiff of the Plutocracy. Who would have suspected that
you would fall into my hands? We have a few scores
to settle, Prince. Do you remember when you led the
armies of the Plutocracy against my estates in the
South ? My father and sister were killed in the sack of
the ‘Town of the Oaks’ and it was you who commanded
the troops. I am very glad to see you again. Prince.”
Then turning to his second in command he continued,
“Say you not so, Aurelius? You were present at the
sack of the ‘Town of the Oaks.’ ”
“Aye, Prince,” was the reply. “He is the ablest devil
in the council of Midas, or in the whole administration
of the Plutocracy.”
The person, addressed as Lothaire, replied calmly and
haughtily. “What I did then I did as the servant of the
Plutocracy and I am not ashamed of it. You brought
your fate upon yourself. You might have stood high
in the councils of the Plutocracy. None had a better
chance. You had youth, ability, great wealth, and a
great name. But you preferred to espouse the cause of
‘the people’ as you call it, and see what it has bought
you” — the speaker gestured toward a placard that was
fastened to an adjacent wind-screen — “there is a price
on your head. That poster offers a reward for your
capture. The Grand Council of the Plutocracy has for-
feited your estates. The name of James Lancaster,
Prince of the Second Cycle, is now coupled .with the
terms traitor and pirate. Even at the present moment
the ships of the Plutocracy are probably closing in on
you to mete out the fate you deserve.”
Prince James flushed violently, and started with rage,
at the word traitor, but he controlled himself, scorning
to strike a prisoner, and said with a slight smile, “Thanks
for reminding me of that fact, Prince.” Then to his
second in command, “Aurelius, send out ten scouts in
the gliders. Let them cover every direction and report
the approach of any ship.” Turning back to the prisoner,
he continued, “You shall answer for your words as
well as your deeds, Lothaire. It ill becomes you, who
are known as the most coldly cruel general of the Pluto-
cracy, to cast epithets at others. You know that you
have been tried and condemned by the Black Groups.
What if I turned you over to them for execution? But
more of this later.”
Continuing his inspection of the prisoners, he came
to where stood the girl who had spoken of him to her
maid. On seeing her, his face lit up with pleasure and
he rushed forward saying. “A vice, you in America!
Why didn’t you answer my letters ? I thought you must
have thrown me over as most of my friends did when
I espoused the cause of the people.”
Then as the girl did not move, he said anxiously.
“You haven’t, have you?”
“You wrote, James?” the girl asked. “I never re-
ceived your letters. They must have been intercepted by
the secret agents of the Plutocracy. I know that I have
been watched. I thought that you had deserted me. And
so I came to America to see. But, James, you need never
be afraid of being thrown over by me. It was I who in-
duced your father to suggest our engagement. I have
loved you since we used to play together as little children
at the Villa Cumberland.”
“Thank God,” he said and caught her in his arms as
though he would never let her go.
Prince Lothaire watched this scene with the keenest
p
interest, and, as it attracted the attention of the guards
from him, he moved to take advantage of it. The one-
man gliders that James had ordered sent out were now
poised on the deck of the liner ready to take off. Lothaire
took a step or two forward and clapped one of the men,
who was just about to take off in a glider, on the shoul-
der in a friendly way, saying, “Hello, Anderson.”
The man, thinking he was mistaken for another,
turned unguardedly. Lothaire seized a dagger from his
belt, and with the smooth speed of a striking snake,
plunged it up to the hilt into the man’s body. Then, be-
fore the already lifeless body could fall, he had moved
behind the man and on to the glider. Starting the small
but 'efficient motor, with which it was equipped, he slip-
ped over the side of the liner and plunged toward the
ground to gather speed quickly. He straightened out so
close to the ground as to brush the grass, then keeping
the liner between himself and the guns of the cruiser,
he was off like an arrow.
The consummate coolness and cunning of his escape
left his captors so astounded diat no effective action was
taken until too late. A few hasty and ill-directed shots
were fired and the other gliders left in quick pursuit, but
the darkness of the night and the almost absolute silence
with which the glider moved prevented any real hope
of success.
James was plainly worried by this successful escape of
the prisoner. He turned to his second in command :
“How soon can we leave. Aurelius? Lothaire will have
the cruisers of the Plutocracy about our ears in an hour
at the latest.”
“It will take at least half an hour to transfer the
stores we need, Prince. “Then, too, one of their shells has
damaged the port horizontal propeller and that will
cut down our speed considerably.”
“It was certainly an unfortunate escape,” said James,
“for we are sure to have to encounter Lothaire again
later. But” — here he smiled at A vice — “no day on which
I find you again could be anything but supremely happy,
no matter what else occurred.”
. The girl smiled happily. “Tell me about yourself,
James,” she said. “It is two years since I saw you,
you know, and then I had no idea that you were to be-
come a famous revolutionary. You were interested in
sports and aviation then, instead of political affairs.
What caused this change? Was it your father? I
remember he wrote several books dealing with the in-
justice of slavery and the rights of the people.”
“Yes, it was my father,” he said. “You see, he didn't
stop at writing. He made speeches and had them broad-
cast to the four corners of the world. The Plutocracy
didn’t like his books, but, he was an independent prince
so they let him alone, but when he began to have his
speeches broadcast to the slaves and people, they sent
to arrest him. As an independent prince, he refused to
be arrested. Then they sent an army and surrounded
him in the ‘Town of the Oaks.’ I was on a hunting trip
in the west and didn’t hear about it until after it was too
late. Aurelius was there and he tells me they put up a
gallant defense. Except for Lothaire’s skill and cun-
ning, they would have escaped. Dad, who had never
had a sword in his hand before in his life, died in the
breach in the town wall. When it became evident that
THE RAID OF THE MERCURY
369
the town was to be sacked, Mary, my sister, took poison.
Aurelius was wounded and left for dead. He was saved
by some former slaves that father had freed. They tried
to get me, too, when I came back from my hunting trip,
but some member of the Black Groups warned me and
I got away on the yacht. It was then I swore vengeance
on the Plutocracy and Lothaire. I turned the yacht
into a cruiser, manned it with the slaves Dad had freed
and who remained faithful, and preyed on the commerce
of the Plutocracy ever since. I do not intend to rest
until father’s ideas are carried out; the slaves are freed,
and there is justice in the courts for all.
“As soon as I decided on this course I realized that my
•position was very different from the one I held, when
we were engaged, so I wrote you, asking if you pre-
ferred to break off the engagement or live the life of
a pirate’s wife. When I did not hear from you, I was
very much afraid that I would have to go on alone.”
“I would be with you anywhere, James,” she said.
“But with the combined power of our principalities we
should be able to gain your point, even against the Pluto-
cracy. Since my father’s death, I am Princess of
Orleans, Duchess of the Cumberlands, and Countess of
the Delta. Together, we control almost a fifth of the
country.”
James shook his head.
“Some of my estates are far separated you know,” he
said. “And though I believe the artisans and people gen-
erally would support me if they dared, I do not think
they will have the courage to do so. The Kingdom of
the South, -which was our main support, has been badly
ravaged. It is more likely that you will only lose your
estates in addition. Still, I feel sure we will win finally.
The Black Groups have given me some aid already, and
they will continue to co-operate with us. I do not ap-
prove of their policy af assassination ; still I have had
to admit that it is the only thing that has held the Pluto-
cracy in check at all.”
Here Aurelius reported the transfer of stores com-
plete. James ordered the slaves on the liner turned loose
and allowed some of them, who had had experience
either as soldiers or machinery workers, to join his crew.
The passengers and the Myrmidons were left unmolest-
ed. The invaders withdrew to the Mercury, accom-
paniri by the Princess Avice and two of her slaves. It
was sc on found that they had taken their departure none
too sc : n, for the scouts sent out in the gliders came back
at top speed and reported a fleet of large ships approach-
ing from the east and north. James went to the control
ca’oir. and laid a course almost due south along the
ancier.: river valley of the Mississippi. He ordered full
speed for both vertical and horizontal propellers. The
Mercur . was a wonderfully swift yacht, built for speed,
but with the damage to the propeller, he doubted if he
could distance the ships behind him. He knew that they
would be spread out fan-wise with delicate listening
apparatus tuned to discover the sound of his motors, so
he hoped to outwit them by rising, which would lessen
the distance that his motors could be heard, since sound
is carried by air waves, and in the rarefied air of great
heights audibility is much decreased.
The vertical propellers, hidden deep within their air
shafts, which were so arranged as to force out a dense
column of air from the bottom of the ship, thus helping
it to rise in somewhat the same manner that a squid pro-
pels itself through the water, hummed with a steadily
rising note as they gained speed. The Mercury rose
swiftly and soon all hands were ordered below decks to
protect them from the cold and rarefied air of the great
height. In the control cabin of polished ebony and ma-
hogany, James and Avice sat on a bench waiting
anxiously for a report from the master electrician. His
report will determine whether or not the fleet had picked
up their trail.
“Do you remember where our estates adjoin in the
Cumberland Mountains?’ asked James.
“Of course,” answered Avice. “I got many a lecture
from my governess for sneaking off from the Villa Cum-
berland to play with you.”
“Well, that is where we are going,” said James. “We
have a secret stronghold near there. We should reach it
in a few hours.”
Aurelius entered.
“The master electrician reports that a large fleet is un-
doubtedly following us and gaining on us fast,” he said.
“Drop the ship within five hundred feet of the earth
at once,” ordered James. “Our plan has failed. We
must depend on speed now and the propellers can’t get
a good grip on the air at this altitude.”
After the ship had reached the thicker air of the lower
altitudes, the pursuing fleet gained much more slowly.
But they still gained, and the number of pursuers
steadily increased as ships, signaled in advance, joined
the pursuit. By keeping up a strong and continuous field
of static the electrician on the Mercury interfered with
these signals as much as possible and prevented any in-
telligible messages from being sent to ships in the di-
rection in which the Mercury was moving. In that way
the ships were not headed off, but new ones steadily
joined the pursuers from flank and rear.
The chase lasted for some hours. The pursuers were
much closer and the dawn was lightening the sky in the
East. James had gradually turned east of south and was
now over the western foothill of the southern Appala-
chians. In order to lose no time in vertical movements,
he was following the carefully engineered track of an
Org Line. This wonderful invention, embodying a
series of electro-magnets arranged in a half circle so
that a paramagnetic body would be held at the center and
(by being equally attracted from below and both sides)
would be supported in the air a few feet from the
ground, appearing to stay there by magic, now carried
the freight traffic of the country at great speeds. The
electric circuits were so arranged that certain magnets
in front of any car traveling on the line pulled it for-
ward, and then, when it passed, the pole was automati-
cally changed and it was repelled. In this way cargoes
of great bulk were speedily transferred in metal cars,
without any crew or pilot.
As the sky slowly grew brighter, it became possible to
make out the pursuing fleet. It seemed to be composed
of large ships. To James’ experienced eye they appeared
to be battle-cruisers. A shell that burst some distance
away made him aware that they also could be seen by
the pursuers. A large mountain loomed ahead into
which the Org Line bored in a tunnel. The situation was
desperate, for the delay necessary to rise over the moun-
tain would be fatal. The crew were aware of their pre-
dicament and either stood around the windshields, watch-
ing the pursuing fleet with hopless hate in their eyes, or
busied themselves in preparing the guns of the cruiser
for a last desperate battle. Most of them would be
370
AMAZING STORIES
treated as runaway slaves if they were captured and they
preferred to die at their posts. Aurelius, brave and
stanch of heart as his peerless Roman namesake, fin-
gered his long heavy sword and suggested that since they
must fight, they should turn back and board the flagship
in which he did not doubt Lothaire to be, saying that he
could die happy if he first saw his blade bury itself
in Lothaire’s body. Avice de Loyola, brave as any of
her illustrious ancesters, who had been noted for their
courage for hundreds of years, stood quietly — very pale
but composed.
“Since we must die, my prince,” she said, “let us show
them that we know how to die bravely. I am glad that
we are together.”
James looked at her in desperation.
“No !” he said. “It shall not be. You are too young
and beautiful to die. There must be some way out. If
only that mountain were not there. If we lose time to
rise over it they will get us with a shell; but if we
had a little start, we might be able to escape, for their
cursed listening devices will not work among the echoes
and air currents of these hills.”
Then he saw the gaping mouth of the Org Tunnel and
a desperate plan flashed into his mind.
“All is not lost,” he announced coolly. “There is still
one chance ; a desperate one, but still, a chance.”
He stepped to the open bridge and took the controls.
Straight toward the mouth of the tunnel he headed. The
tunnel was terribly small for his plan. Should they strike
an Org Car coming in the other direction, at the speed at
which they were moving they would be reduced to dust,
but it seemed their only alternative. Another danger was
that of being forced against the roof or wall of the tun-
nel. As the darkness closed over them, he heard Avice
gasp. Aurelius’ ruddy face turned almost white, but
he stood quietly with a grim smile on his face. This was
the kind of thing he admired, and for which he followed
his young leader with boundless devotion. Courage and
audacity, where could there be a better leader ?
The tunnel was fifteen miles long but it hardly seemed
that they were in it a minute. To James it was just a
long stretch of smooth walls illuminated by the search-
light and blurred by the speed with which he passed.
Then they shot out into the open air again and just as
they rose from the Org Line, a cigar shaped car, al-
most as large as the cruiser, suddenly loomed out of the
dim morning light ahead and shot past below with the
speed of thought. James raised his hand to his forehead
and found it damp with perspiration at the narrowness
of their escape. If they had met the Org Car in the
tunnel, they would never have known what struck them.
James steered the ship down a sheltering valley at
right angles to their former course. Then he changed
the course several times dropping deep into mountain
valleys and hurtling through passes at top speed. When,
after a half hour of this, the master electrician reported
no sound of the pursuing fleet, he knew that they were
safe. He headed straight for their stronghold. A few
minutes later he brought the ship low over the rushing
waters of a swift mountain stream. After following its
course for a short distance, the dark entrance of a mighty
cavern showed to their left. By skillful maneuvering
he brought the Mercury to rest in this natural hangar,
completely concealed from the keen eyes of the hundreds
of aerial scouts that he knew would soon be on the look-
out for them. Under the eye of the searchlight, the
cavern disclosed itself as containing galleries and pas-
sages that might conceal an army. A small body of his
men that had been left behind, either to guard the strong-
hold or because they were unfit for the strenuous work
of the expedition, rushed forward to unload the ship and
congratulate them on the successful outcome of their ex-
pedition. When it was learned that James had brought
back his future wife, and that she was Avice, who was
noted for her generosity, kindliness and wealth, an im-
promptu celebration was staged.
A few hours later they were married. The impressive'
and dignified ceremony was performed before a natural
altar in the rock. The scene was lit by the ruddy glare
of a great fire. James stood tall and proud and very
happy, with his officers and friends grouped behind him.
Avice, with hair as black as night, and skin of the tint
of pale ivory, stood at his side with her maids behind her.
Her gorgeous robes and jewels (taken from the small
amount of baggage she had had time to bring with her)
made her look, even more than ever, the beautiful woman
and great princess that she was. The gossamer fabrics,
in the fashion of the day, only partially concealed the
beautifully rounded perfection of her form. The fire-
light glinted from her hair, illuminated the soft and
warm flesh of her throat and shoulders, and sparkled in
her eyes in a way that put to shame her splendid jewels.
The ceremony was performed by Aurelius, who had
been made a tribune by Prince Edward, James’ father.
As the concluding words were said, Avice and James
blended their lips in one long kiss, a thousand swords
flashed from their scabbards and a mighty shout rent
the air. “Long life and happiness to our- King and
Queen, Success to our cause !”
* * * *
1 RETURNED to full consciousness very slowly. It
was with a start that I realized that the sun was
shining on the stained glass windows in the west of
the room and that it must be late afternoon. I must have
been in some kind of trance, looking into the crystal
ball, for hours. I turned my attention to the crystal
again. It was as clear and limpid as a mountain stream.
No vestige of the wild scenes that I had gazed at within
its depths remained. Nor did the most prolonged scru-
tiny restore them. The ball remained mockingly clear.
I rose from the beautifully carved chair with my feet
sinking into the soft carpet and looked around for the
old magician. There was no one in the room save myself.
Still partially dazed, I walked from the room and out
into the street. As I passed out it seemed to me that
I heard someone laughing softly to himself.
I went to my rooms and turned what little skill I had
into writing the story of what I had seen in the crystal
ball. This story I now give to you for what it is worth.
I do not assert its veracity. I do not attempt to explain
it. It may be merely the wild dreams of a man under
the influence of whatever drug the old magician used in
the charcoal brazier. It may be some slight glimpse
of the lives that people on this planet will live in the far
distant future. Let each man decide for himself.
The End.
371
The Metal Monster
By Otis Adelbert Kline
( Continued from page 363)
sions of hot lava. What happened later was inevitable.
“As soon as we discovered that there were living, in-
telligent creatures in the outer world, Zet, ambitious con-
queror of our world, laid his plans to conquer yours. I
objected, but I was overruled.
“You know the rest, and I am hungry, thirsty and
weary.”
The president signed to the guards, who took him
away.
* * *
Two years have passed since those events took place,
yet I can see them as clearly as if they had occurred but
yesterday. For three months after the canal was blasted
through the wall of Coseguina, the Pacific continued to
flow into the shaft. Then the whirlpool disappeared, and
a level crater lake was formed. Hax told us that it was
impossible for the nether world to have been completely
filled with water in that time — that its inhabitants must
have found some way to stem the flow.
He may be right. I do not know, nor do I care much,
so long as its slimy intelligences are kept where they be-
long — in the dank, musty regions where they were
evolved. For then I will feel more assurance about the
future of a certain little curly-headed, brown-eyed fellow
Dolores has just brought to my study, pajama-clad, to say
“good night” to his daddy.
The years pass quickly, and it will not be long before
Wallace, Jr., must shift for himself in the world that was
saved by his mother’s tears.
Note — Mycetosoan is formed from two Greek words,
the first meaning “fungus” and the other meaning “ani-
mal.” This won an old name for the fungus, myxomy-
cetes, which zzns considered by some authorities to be an
animal. The name myomycetes means slime fungus; the
idea of the animal relationship is generally thrown out,
although some still consider the fungus as belonging to
the lowest order of animals. The dispute indicated is an
old one. The English language name is slime moulds.
They increase by division and finally aggregate or fuse
into masses of protoplasm, called plasmodia. These
masses are of ten, found on decaying logs.
The End
The Night Express
Man’s scanty merits from his faults I sift
Disheartened at the residue. When — hark !
There goes the night express, nicknamed “The Lark”!
I feel my heart grow big — grow r light — and lift!
Our sinner still has wonders in his gift.
Listen that racing engine’s joyous bark —
A steel-thewed greyhound speeding through the dark,
Staunch, steady, proud, magnificently swift!
The erring human gentles to his need
Wind, water, lightning; will he miss the goal
Of mental strife? Or being of the breed
Of conquerors will he lose his grip of soul?
Master of metals, motors, wheels, and wings,
Will Man descend to be the thrall of Things?
— Julia Boynton Green.
COMING SOON!
Summer Edition
AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY
Containing:
The Blue Barbarians, by Stanton A. Coblentz
A new, satirical novel — a real scientific fiction classic.
The Menace of the Little, by Roscoe B. Fleming
And other important science fiction.
Watch for this issue on the newsstands !
A GOOD many of our readers will remember the enterprising scientists, of
uJL “The Moon Strollers ” fame , which story we published in the May, 1930,
issue of AMAZING Stories, and will be glad to welcome them back at this time.
These adventurers brought all kinds of geological specimens from the moon, all
of which, we believed, they had turned over to the Museum. But our scientist-
heroes confess here to having withheld at least one thing — a chrysalis. But they
had good reason for doing this, as you will agree after you have read this story.
F rederick scoefield sat at his office
desk perusing the morning’s mail. After an
absence of nearly four months, he was ener-
getically pulling together the loose ends of his
rapidly growing engineering business. Despite
his amazing adventure and sudden wealth, he did not
intend to lead a life of idleness. Things certainly needed
personal attention, for no matter how competent sub-
ordinates were, they always lacked his initiative, his
daring imagination. As he sorted the letters into two
piles — business and personal — his hand picked up the
familiar sky-blue envelope of the Astronomical Club. He
smiled as he turned over the letter and glanced at the
constellation of white stars printed on the back to indi-
cate the current month. His smile gave utterance to an
exclamation of interest, as he read the following notice :
“Regular August meeting of the Astronomical
Club at the Shack, the third week-end, as usual. The
program will include the initiation of Professor Ken-
worthy into membership, and Dr. Mueller promises
some fun, cracking open a number of geodes and red
shale fossils from his private collection.
Respectfully yours,
R. C. Burroughs,
Secretary.”
Scoefield leaned over to his desk calendar and marked
a cross on Friday, August 22, 1935, and then he dropped
the envelope and notice into the basket. He was the last
person to leave the office at five-fifteen. He fought his
way into a subway train and shot out to his suburban
apartment.
At five-thirty, a janitor entered the offices of Scoefield
and Company, General Engineering, and proceeded to
clean out the waste baskets and sweep the floors. Anyone
peering through the office door mail-slot might have seen
him on his knees, sorting through the eight wire baskets,
letter by letter, until he found the blue envelope and the
notice beneath it. He now acted in an unusual manner
for janitors, for he carefully placed these treasures in
a larger stamped envelope which he carried in an inside
pocket of his vest. Leaving the office door open, he
quickly walked down the hall and taking the envelope
he had just filled, deposited it in the mail-chute.
The next morning this letter found its way to the
desk of a free-lance writer for a popular scientific
monthly. Each month he dug up a scare-head leading
article of advanced news. He was known at the office
as “Mr. Hawk,” and the magazine closed its eyes to his
news-gathering methods, because his stuff was popular
and helped put the publication over with half a million
copies per month. An odd type of person, with a neu-
rotic taste for the quasi-scientific. He had studied just
enough science to kill his morals and religion. With an
insatiable curiosity, he was always delving for the un-
published facts.
This person also marked the date on his calendar and
then burned the letter.
As Scoefield rode out to his home he mused over
the events of the past four months. It seemed incredible
that he had become a second Lindbergh ; been feted and
honored by the leading scientific societies in the world.
The sheer nerve and daring of that rocket trip to the
Moon! Jules Verne’s prophecy actually carried out
successfully! His back-breaking labor day by day with
372
By
Rogers Ullrich
Author of “The Moon Strollers
Illustrated by
PAUL
The head, with huge single lensed eyes, turned on an axis
from side to side, as it looked around the table with a
doleful and apprehensive stare. ... Its wings now
fluttered spasmodically, as wave on wave of nerve dead-
ening perfume stupefied the senses.
373
374 AMAZING
Professor Kenworthy and Dr. Mueller in exploration
over the Moon’s dead surface; the beautiful minerals
and fossils he had gathered for Mueller; the agonizing
suspense of the return trip ; the crash and injuries in the
Andes Mountains; then — ovations, endless handshaking
and photography; his present disguise to avoid being
pestered and now— the quiet routine of the engineering
business all over again.
Several weeks later two men waited at the Grand
Central Station for a noon train to carry them up into
Vermont. One hoped to get a few days’ rest and re-
laxation with old friends away from the city’s roar and
heat ; the other to spy and steal, if need be.
T HE sun had just dipped behind the rolling hills and
a faint mist was settling into the valley, when Scoe-
field’s train arrived in the little town of Oakdale.
Quite a few people alighted; vacationists, farmers, sev-
eral salesmen, some women and children, and lastly, a
man with a full beard, who seemed very particular about
the careful unloading of his motorcycle from the bag-
gage car. Scoefield threaded his way through the group
of passengers on the platform and got into the waiting
buggy of Lem Thompson. Lem was an old-time
farmer, rich in land, but stringent for ready money. He
leased one of his hilltops to the Astronomical Club and
depended upon them for a considerable part of his in-
come. The two men chatted intermittently, as they
jolted over the eight-mile drive to the Shack.
“I reckon you fellows are goin’ to have some kind
of a reunion up there. I’ve hauled darn near the whole
Club in the past two days.”
“Yes, everybody likes to get away from the city
during August.”
“I had to make an extra trip for Dr. Mueller. He
brought up two packin’ cases. I had to get some of
the boys down at the station to help load ’em on. I
reckon I would have hitched up a double team, had I
knowed how heavy they was.”
“Yes, Mr. Thompson; some supplies, no doubt; the
Doctor is making a larger telescope this summer.”
Darkness had settled over the hilltop as Lem Thomp-
son drew up his team where a path cut back from the
dirt road. Scoefield got out, took his bag from the
rear, and bid goodbye to the old farmer. As he strode
up the path to the Shack, he was conscious of a chill in
the night air, denoting that the short summer was draw-
ing to its close. His ear, always in tune to the sounds
of nature, caught an odd droning sound coming up from
the valley. “A flivver” he thought, trying to navigate
that dirt road — “must be taking the rough spots in low.”
He reached the Shack a moment later, with its twinkling
lights and thin column of blue-gray smoke ascending
from the chimney. As he entered, a roaring fire, the
cheery circle of old friends, and the aroma of roast pork
with New England baked beans, greeted him. “Well,
well, here comes the returning hero ! Come on, boys, all
together — Tor he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly
good fellow’.” Every man was on his feet, shaking
hands with Fred. Dinner was just being served. Scoe-
field took his customary place and at once joined in the
noisy conversation.
“No cooking this trip, Fred,” shouted Dr. Mueller,
from the table’s end. “Donnelly sent up his colored
man and we are having a combination of both New
England and Southern cooking.”
STORIES
“Suits me replied Scoefield, “I am ready to eat any-
thing after that long ride up from the city.”
Then spying Kenworthy at the other end, he bantered,
“Hello, Kenny; I thought being a professional astrono-
mer, you would be too holy to join this club of ama-
teurs?”
“No, Fred; I consider the invitation to spend the
week-end here a signal honor. There hasn’t been a
dull moment.”
“Just wait, Professor, until Mueller starts talking
about his minerals ; then you can cover up for the night,”
blurted out Burroughs. Everybody roared and the
Doctor promptly retorted, “I shall get even for that re-
mark by giving my discussion in scientific German.”
Whereupon the men around the table roared even
louder, and holding up their coffee cups to Mueller, sang
again, “For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly
good fellow.”
Shortly, the big pine table was cleared, Havanas were
lighted, and the men relaxed, while Mueller rummaged
through his cases and laid the geological specimens, one
by one, on the table. After cleaning and adjusting his
glasses, he began:
“You gentlemen know that in the exclusive story of
our exploration to the Moon, which Fred sold to the
Associated Press, there were mentioned 603 geological
specimens, besides those basalt disks, which we brought
back. I saw fit to give the Smithsonian Institute 492
specimens, which I identified and labeled during our fall
back to earth; presumably the remainder not mentioned
were either duplicates or worthless; at any rate, no
questions were asked about them, and as far as I know,
the public thinks they have the entire collection.”
“For my part, after risking life and limb, I felt en-
titled to retain such material as I have here until this
club could examine and study it at leisure. In fact, this
shack is the only place in the world where I can do any
uninterrupted work. I expect to remain here for another
month at least.
“Now then, bring the lamps closer, and pass around
these minerals from hand to hand. The science of fossils
is, as you know, called ‘palaeontology.’ It is a very
broad subject, with new discoveries constantly extend-
ing the field. It has now several distinct divisions,
among which may be mentioned ‘palaeobotany,’ concern-
ing itself with the ancient forms of vegetable life. As
an example, please examine these fern fronds; beautiful
specimens, and dating from the Moon’s carboniferous
period ; probably millions of years before corresponding
terrestrial conditions. They are identical with clado-
phlebis denticulata, found in English inferior oolite;
adding as it* does, another of the now overwhelming
proofs of the universality of the evolutionary processes.
“On the other hand, I have here samples of red shale,
which may be only ten thousand years old, or dating
from the last great cataclysm, which rendered the Moon
uninhabitable for flora or fauna, as we understand it.
“We have striking evidence that in the Moon’s death
agony, a series of frightful earthquakes occurred, open-
ing up gigantic fissures in the surface into which the once
abundant seas disappeared. In these cosmic disturb-
ances, whole verdant areas must have been suddenly in-
undated, followed by violent sand storms, and then by
burning sun-heat. In this way, these red shale fossils
have been formed. They are a very prolific source of
information. However, those of you who are more in-
THE STOLEN CHRYSALIS
375
terested in mineralogy than botany, get a couple of small
hammers out of the laboratory and crack open these
geodes. If someone will get me a chisel, I would like to
split down this block first.”
D URING the interval of getting tools, heads were
bent together, specimens were passed around, and
everybody talked at once.
"Fred, come help me hold this piece on edge, while I
try to split through this dark vein.” A light blow, and
the stone crumbled under hand, it was so soft and
porous. They all leaned forward to see the contents.
There it was ; a spray of leaves on a twig, just as fresh
and green as if plucked yesterday, and partly hidden be-
tween the leaves, a brown, egg-shaped object, ridged
and mottled. Holding up the strange thing, Mueller
asked, “What is it?” “Pass it over here,” answered
Skidmore, who was a natural history fan.
“Gentlemen:” he said “this is a fossil chrysalis of a
huge uUtterfly, with probably a wing span of fourteen
or sixteen inches. Very rare and very interesting, in-
deed.”
“What makes you think it is a fossil ?” spoke up Scoe-
field. “It may be living!”
“Well, that is easy to try,” said Mueller. “Someone
bring me a bowl of warm water.” The thing was thrust
into the water and all eyes were focused. The seconds
lengthened into minutes. “Give it time to warm up,”
said Mueller ; but hardly had he uttered these words,
when the thing began to squirm and jump like a Mexican
jumping bean. The astonishment of the men can be im-
agined. Everybody talked at once, and Skidmore now
took the stage. “Tell me, Doctor, how do you account
for such a miraculous preservation, after these thou-
sands of years?” he questioned. “I cannot account for
it. It is simply one of those strange freaks of nature
which the scientist encounters occasionally, to baffle and
upset our fine theories and speculations. All that could
be said is that a rare combination of insulation, together
with oxygen-bearing ores, sealed and kept vitalized the
twig and chrysalis.”
“Do you suppose the chrysalis will hatch?” everyone
asked.
“Why not?” he answered. “And if it does, it will re-
present the Moon’s last living creature. We will put
it in a little wire cage under the laboratory skylight, and
let the heat of the sun do the rest.”
This fossil proved to be the “piece de resistance” of
the evening; the remainder held but casual interest for
the men. In a very short time the discussion became
general, and when the chrysalis had been properly dis-
posed of, it ceased to be a subject of speculation. The
night was particularly fine; several of the men wanted
to search for a new comet, recently reported from the
Harvard Observatory, so it was well after two o’clock
before all lights were out, and the symphony of crickets
in the high brush around the shack, was augmented by
the breathing of a dozen men.
About ten o’clock next morning, Skidmore entered the
laboratory to get his graflex camera. He had left it on
the big work table under the skylight, near the little im-
provised cage. Glancing toward it, he was surprised to
see the netting neatly slit open, the chrysalis gone, and in
its place, a short note scrawled in lead pencil, on the mar-
gin of a scrap of daily newspaper ! He picked it up and
read the following:
“Gentlemen : I regret to deprive you of your little
treasure, but I also possess scientific curiosity, and
have no qualms, since this is undoubtedly the right-
ful property of the Smithsonian Institute.”
Skidmore rushed back into the living room where the
men were tumbling out of their bunks, or getting dressed
for breakfast.
They were electrified by the news, and rushed in a
body into the laboratory to look at the empty cage.
“Why the devil didn’t he take some of our money and
let the chrysalis alone?” blurted out Mueller, who now
appeared in very baggy pajamas.
“Now don’t get your Dutch up, Doc,” retorted Ken-
worthy; “let us sit down to breakfast, and calmly
analyze this theft.”
“That’s right, Professor, you are somewhat of an
amateur detective, if all the reports from Chicago are
true,” added Scoefield.
In truth, the noted astronomer was an insatiable con-
sumer of detective stories and criminology interested him
as a divergent line of thought. The savory odor of perco-
lating coffee, hot bread, bacon and eggs, assailed the
nostrils. Appetites were keen, and once again, the big
table resounded to a noisy meal.
“Mr. Skidmore, please give me that note ; I’d like to
glance at it for a moment,” requested Professor Ken-
worthy, after the breakfast was well under way. He
scrutinized it carefully, and then turning to the men, said,
“I feel certain that the mere writing of this note will
prove the thief’s undoing. It indicates a small and ego-
tistical type of mind that would take time to express his
taunts at the risk of discovery. The reference to the
Smithsonian Institute is simply to throw us off the
trail. It is unthinkable that anyone on that staff would
be involved.”
‘Good ! Good ! Professor” several shouted, while Dr.
Mueller interrupted to say, “I know the Smithsonian
people personally. They are a very loyal and worthy
group. You can rest assured they had nothing to do
with this.”
“All right ; now to proceed further ;” continued Ken-
worthy, “this piece of paper is of such poor quality, that
it is certainly a scrap of one of New York’s dailies. The
local Vermont papers with their small circulations, is-
sued once or twice a week, usually print on heavier
weight and whiter quality. The very fact that Mr. Skid-
more’s lens, which was on the work table beside the
chrysalis, was not taken, shows that we are not dealing
with a common crook. The motive must have been
curiosity, or probably material for a ‘story’ for one of
the cheaper, popular science journals. They are usually
hard pressed for something new and astonishing.
“T X 7"HEN I received the invitation to spend the week-
VV end here, as I recall, it came in a blue envelope
with a constellation printed on the back. That is a very
startling and original manner of reminding club members
of the meetings, but it is also a source of leakage in your
seclusion. You men come up here to get away from the
cares of big business. There is no telephone, no stock
ticker, the place is inaccessible except by a dirt road over
the hills. You depend on Mr. Thompson for food sup-
ply and haulage back and forth to the village. You go
to a great deal of trouble to get seclusion, and then ad-
vertise your meetings to the world in this way.
376
AMAZING STORIES
“Let us presume that one of these invitations fell into
the hands of a reporter. He would come up here and
follow one of us out to the shack. It is too far to walk
and there are no livery stables any more, where one can
hire a horse. He must keep within sight of the person
he is following, so he would probably use a motorcycle.
I was very fond of this sport as a high school boy, and
by picking the good edges, I could travel any road.”
“Wait, wait, Professor! interrupted Scoefield, “there
was a motorcycle unloaded at the station, and I think I
heard it down in the valley, as I was walking up to the
shack.”
“Very good, Watson,” retorted Kenworthy, smiling.
The table roared, and shouted, “Go on, go on!”
“Having established this faint clue, we may presume
that our covetous friend came well-equipped. He may
have gone so far as to have a pair of head ’phones, sev-
eral hundred feet of telephone wire, and a small micro-
phone, which could be attached near one of the open win-
dows. This, equipped and astride one of those big oaks
yonder, with a pair of high power binoculars, he prob-
ably enjoyed the evening about as much as we did. ex-
cept that he may have gotten chilly and cramped in his
position. I hope he did.
“If I thought, for an instant, that this man could be
apprehended before he got back to New York, we might
commission Fred to hustle down to the farm, saddle a
horse, and dash into the village like Paul Revere. How-
ever, I understand from Mr. Thompson that there are
but two trains a day leaving for New York; the milk
train, pulling out around three o’clock in the morning,
and the second one at noon. Rest assured, our scien-
tific friend caught the milk train ; he is not loitering
around Oakdale this morning; or, he may have motored
South to the next town, got his breakfast, and waited for
the last train.
“Let us assume that he returns to New York. He
will immediately go to his rooms and rig up a cage
similar to the one we have here. If he has no direct sun-
light, he may try to hatch the chrysalis with a sunray
lamp.
“It is only by the process of elimination, that method
so ably employed by Sherlock Holmes, that we could
possibly trace this fellow after he arrives in the metropo-
lis. Let us assume he is a reporter ; what paper does he
work for? I don’t think the daily papers are a serious
consideration, although there are eight or ten Sunday
papers which usually run one or more popular science
articles in their magazine sections. These inaccurate and
grossly exaggerated space fillers are nearly always
signed, and seldom deal with entomology. Earthquakes,
microbes in drinking water, monkey glands and mon-
strosities are the usual themes. If we dispose of the
newspapers and search among the scientific journals, we
probably could narrow considerably the horizon. You
men are not only contributors, but are acquainted -with
many of -the writers for these publications.
“Suppose we go to the editor of one of the leaders : say,
' Science and Invention In the editorial offices, we can
obtain access to the exchanges and from them get prob-
ably half a dozen editors’ names. Go to these men con-
fidentially, in the name of the Astronomical Club, state
the facts, and if I am not very much mistaken, you will
get a list of names ; maybe ten or twenty. It will be
exasperating, running down these men, so many wild
goose chases, but you will find that they know each
other, and somebody wanting a legitimate story may
squeal. It is possible that the whole search could be
wound up on Monday. There is no use going to Print-
ing House Row today or Sunday. Editors are away
over week-ends just as we are. On the other hand, it
may be too late. When chrysalis decides to hatch, it
loses no time.”
“That is so,” interrupted Skidmore, “they usually
hatch between nine and four on sunny, windless days,
and never in rainy weather.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go !” cried Scoefield, at this point. “We
traveled half a million miles for these fossils, and we
are not going to lose one. I will go down to the farm
and sleep there, and Thompson will take me in with his
milk.”
“So you have another excuse to hang around the farm
Sunday night, Fred,” slyly added Burroughs. “By the
way, when does Thompson’s daughter return to Mt.
Holyoke?”
“Shut up !” retorted Scoefield, whose face flushed for
a second, as the men nudged each other.
“It is a pity to spoil Fred’s vacation ; he needs it quite
as much as we middle-aged men,” observed Dr. Mueller.
B REAKFAST over, the members scattered each to
his hobby, while Professor Kenworthy sauntered
down the path to the dirt road, which he scrutinized care-
fully for some distance each way. The tracks of the
motorcycle were clearly discernible in the heavy clay,
the place where the rider had stopped, and numerous
cigarette butts indicating a stay of some duration. Noth-
ing beyond that was discoverable except the motorcycle
had not returned, but continued on the road. This fact
puzzled the Professor as he meandered down to Thomp-
son’s farm. He found the old farmer in the barn pitch-
ing hay. As it lacked but a few minutes of noon, Thomp-
son carefully laid aside his fork, when he saw Ken-
worthy, and coming out of the barn he invited him into
the spring house to have a glass of buttermilk.
As they chatted, the Professor related the facts of the
strange disappearance of the chrysalis, and made in-
quiry about the length and outlet of the road. It ap-
peared that the road ran by a devious route deep into the
hill country for about 12 miles, and then cut across a
concrete state highway leading directly south to Rutland.
This was an important clue, and would have to be run
out while the tracks of the thief were still fresh. No
time could be lost, as the sky was clouding up and a
slight shower would destroy the trail. As Kenworthy
hurried up to the clubhouse, Thompson hitched his best
driving horse to a light buggy.
These details were related to the men, and after a
hasty lunch, Scoefield hurried down the hillside to the
farm. Kenworthy watched him down in the valley ap-
proaching the house, and noted a figure in white sweater
and knickers get into the buggy beside him.
“Well, Fred’s detective work won’t be very accurate
or thorough, under the circumstances,” he dryly ob-
served to Mueller, who stood beside him on the porch.
“Don’t fool yourself, Kenny,” retorted the Doctor.
“Miss Thompson is majoring in biology at college, and
will probably be keenly interested.”
Kenworthy sighed. “At any rate, they will enjoy
the full moon tonight.”
Fred did not disappoint the men, for when he returned
that evening he reported that he had followed the trail
THE STOLEN CHRYSALIS
377
all the way to State Road, where the tracks turned
sharply to the left, indicating that the motorcyclist had
headed for Rutland, where the thief would have the
choice of frequent trains going south.
Monday morning found Fred back in New York,
sleepy and tired after a five-hour trip, in spite of dozing-
most of the way. Fortunately, he picked a taxi driver
who entered into the spirit of the chase, for he was lit-
erally raced from publisher to publisher. His fame,
which both bored and embarrassed him, proved the open
sesame to the editorial rooms. He was surprised at the
wide circle of acquaintances these editors had. They
really seemed to know everybody who typed a line in
the metropolis. He was swamped with names, but kind
assistance narrowed down the list to a possible dozen.
There was nothing else to do but call on these men in-
dividually. Then the wild goose chase began. It was
most discouraging; several of the writers were out of
town, other were out digging up copy, or had dinner
engagements. The afternoon appeared to be wasted,
since only four men had been actually interviewed.
Hot and exhausted, Fred returned to his office to
change his wilted collar and freshen up a bit before go-
ing to the Engineers’ Club for dinner. He would rest an
hour or so and pursue the trail again in the evening.
It was after 5 :30 when he walked into his office. He
was not surprised to see the door ajar, for he knew the
cleaners would be at work at this time, but it was quite a
shock to see a man on his knees rummaging through the
waste baskets, letter by letter.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. The man
started up at the sound of his voice, as if shocked by
electricity.
“Why boss, I’m collectin’ post marks and stamps for
a fellow ; he’s a bug on stamps and he pays me to go
through the baskets.”
“Well, that’s curious ; I do that myself ! By the way,
what are you specially looking for now'?”
“Oh, he is trying to get the post marks of every town
in New England. I am working on Vermont now.”
“Is that so ; well I don’t get many letters from that
state. Let me see, oh, yes, yes, there is one ; it comes in
a blue envelope from Oakdale. Did you notice that
one?”
“Yes; I got that one about three weeks ago.”
Fred backed against the door, his eyes flashing in
anger.
“You are a damn liar and spy for some reporter!” he
shouted, as he dropped off his coat and deliberately rolled
up his sleeves.
The man’s face blanched as he stared dumbly at Scoe-
field. After a moment, he replied, “Say, boss, us jani-
tors is entitled to salvage out of the baskets, ain’t we?”
“Now look here, man, I know you have your living
to earn and you try to turn a penny wherever you can,
but the fact remains that you are working for a crook.
I am going to ask the building superintendent to transfer
you to another floor. Never enter my office again and
you are not getting out now — until you give me the name
and address of the fellow you sent that letter to. If you
don’t tell me the truth, you will be out of a job to-
morrow.”
The janitor measured with his eye, the youth and
physical perfection of Scoefield’s six feet of manhood. He
had been caught like a rat in a trap, and after all, it had
not paid very well ; might as well make a clean breast of
it. Anything to save his job. He hesitated for a mo-
ment, and then, reaching in his pocket, he produced a
large stamped and addressed envelope, which, with trem-
bling hand, he handed to Scoefield. Without another
word, he stooped and gathered the loose letters into a
burlap bag; then taking up his dust-pan and brush, he
trudged out of the office and down the hall.
Fred studied the address.
Michael J. Hawk,
No. Third Ave.
“A great piece of luck,” he mused, as he searched in
vain through his list. “Probably an assumed name, but
if Professor Kenworthy’s deductions are correct, you
are surely the man, Mr. Hawk, and since you live in one
of the toughest sections of the city, I think it would be
wiser to call on you in daylight.”
E ARLY next morning, Fred ’phoned to the taxi
driver he had employed on Monday and briefly ex-
plained the mission. They threaded their way across
town amid the chaos of the morning rush hour, and
shortly found themselves before a dingy walk-up apart-
ment house. The driver insisted upon accompanying
Fred and stood in the hall wdiile he interviewed Mr.
Hawk.
A sallow-faced individual of about forty, with sleepy
eyes, and wearing a bathrobe and slippers, ushered Scoe-
field into the literary workshop of a typical hack-writer.
What a room to describe with its shelving, thousands of
books, old magazines and newspapers. Against the far
wall, which was pierced by a double window, extended
a long work-table, burdened with a great confusion of
writing materials, typewriter, fieldglasses, radio, camera
and a microscope under a glass dome.
Scoefield took in the room and the man, in a swift
comprehensive glance.
“Mr. Hawk, I believe, writer for Daily Science , The
Chicago Quarterly of Natural Science , The Robot Inter-
national, The Philadelphia Sunday Transcript?”
“You flatter me, dear sir. Pray to whom do I owe
the honor of this early morning visit?”
“Scoefield is my name, I am a member of the Vermont
Astronomical Society.”
“Please be seated, and have a cigarette,” Mr. Hawk
suavely enjoined.
“Thanks, but I haven’t time to pay a social call. The
facts are these :
“On Friday night a fossil chrysalis was stolen from
our club-house. It was one of a number of fossils
brought back from the recent lunar expedition.”
“Oh! So I have the pleasure of meeting Frederick
Scoefield, the second Lindbergh, the inventor of ‘The
Moon Strollers,’ etc., etc. Indeed, Mr. Scoefield, you are
such an elusive person to interview, what can I possibly
do for you, in exchange for the chance to get an ex-
clusive ‘story’ ?”
“As I said before, a fossil chrysalis was stolen, and
after careful investigation by a noted criminologist, the
trail leads directly to your rooms as the repository of
that article. Please don’t register amazement and in-
dignation ! I am not going to argue with you. I admire
the trouble and expense you have gone to, to commit a
worthless theft. Now, understand this clearly, if you
don’t come across immediately, we will have to tempor-
arily suspend your animation for the present, while
these rooms are searched. Oh, don’t think I came here
378
AMAZING STORIES
without a search warrant, and without the proper
authority. Give me that chrysalis. Even if it is hatching,
you could use it as news. It would be just one straw too
heavy on the public’s back of credulity.”
Hawk looked at Fred with narrow, shrewd eyes as he
thought rapidly. “Mr. Scoefield, you astonish me with
your statements. What I need is a good ‘story’ ; news
is very scarce at present since the public is fed up on that
‘trip to the Moon’ business. What would it be worth to
you if I said I knew the location of your quest?”
“Look here, man. Give me that chrysalis at once. And
if you ever prowl around the clubhouse again, it will
probably be at the peril of two barrels of buckshot. And
please let the Astronomical Club alone. If you need
another Lunar story, why don’t you hang around the
Boston Philological Society ? They have about completed
the translation of the basalt discs. That will be officially
published in some dry journal of philology, of course,
but a popular write-up with several clever drawings,
would take well in the magazines.” •
“Mr. Scoefield,” he replied, “I must say you are a
scholar and a gentleman. I will surrender the chrysalis
and apologize for the trouble I have put you to, al-
though I have no regrets — I have secured both a story
and a pleasant interview. Please make one prediction
about the basalt discs.”
Scoefield looked indignantly at Hawk, but decided to
humor him.
“When the inscriptions are published, there will be
another expedition, and another story.”
Hawk’s bedroom window faced the south, and Fred
followed closely after him as he went to the window
and took the precious chrysalis from a gauze bag, which
was pinned to the top rail of the lower sash.
For full five minutes, in the warm yellow sunlight,
Scoefield examined the chrysalis. A strange metamor-
phosis had taken place within the past two days. The
color had changed and the pupa casing seemed so brittle,
it might burst at any moment. Mr. Hawk looked covet-
ously at the thing, as Fred placed it within a fold of
cotton in a small metal box, and left the room abruptly.
The chrysalis was going to hatch, and shortly, too ;
that was certain. How to get back to Vermont quickly!
“The aviation field, at once, fast as you can!” he
cried to the taxi man, as they hustled down the stairs.
Thirty minutes more and he was at Long Island Field.
“I must have an airplane to take me to Thompson’s
Farm at Oakdale, Vermont, at once!” he demanded.
“We are very sorry, Mr. Scoefield, but there is not
even an emergency landing field within 40 miles of Oak-
dale,” replied the traffic manager.
“That means nothing to me. I’ll drop by parachute.
I will sign a statement assuming all risk.”
T WO hours later, a trimotored plane reconnoitered
over the Thompson farm. Fred remained calmly
seated while the aviator pulled a lever and dropped him
through the emergency trap. A tiny white puff ball ap-
peared behind the plane, then a second later, the pilot
parachute had pulled out the big silk enevlope which
spread like a giant mushroom. Dangling and swaying in
the gusty mountain air, Fred dropped safely to earth,
with his precious cargo strapped on his chest in the metal
box. Willing hands untangled the cordage and literally
carried him to the shack. It was not a moment too soon,
for the chrysalis had split down the thorax and the pupa
within was in a state of convulsive motion.
“It won’t be long now,” observed Skidmore, as he
placed the chrysalis in its loop of silken thread, which
held it in an upright position on the ancient twig. “There
is nothing in nature quite so marvelous as to see the em-
ergence of the butterfly from its chrysalis.”
The men sat spell-bound, around the table, as little by
little, the head then the thorax, and lastly, the abdomen
struggled free from the pupa case. The wings folded
like an umbrella around the body, slowly spread out as
the blood could be seen swelling the thick marginal veins.
A beautiful thing, jet black, and with a wing span of at
least 12 inches. It had six legs, the frontal pair being atro-
phied and hugged close to the body. The entire wings
and body were covered with long black hairs, causing it
to resemble the Vanessa Antiopa — a hibernating species
of North America. On the under side of the frontal
wings were two white scent pouches, corresponding to
those carried by the male Monarch. As the marvelous
creature slowly waved its wings, it fanned out a heavy
perfume both nauseating and overpowering in its odor.
“Close all windows and stop smoking, boys,” com-
manded Skidmore. “We don’t know how quickly this
thing will be ready for flight. I, for one, think it should
be put immediately in the cyanide jar.”
“Just a few more minutes, Skidmore,” spoke out Dr.
Mueller. “We should study its reactions to various ex-
ternal stimuli, to discover what vestiges of instinct or
intelligence remain to this, the Moon’s last living crea-
ture.
The head, with huge, single lensed eyes, turned on an
axis from side to side, as it looked around the table
with a doleful and apprehensive stare. It turned on its
perch, seeming to regard the men one by one. Evidently
its eyes were long focused, for it followed every move
of Skidmore as he quietly placed the glass bell of cyanide
on the table. Its wings now fluttered spasmodically, as
wave on wave of nerve-deadening perfume stupefied
the senses. Nerve centers were paralyzed as the men
breathed the heavy air laden by some subtle narcotic. In
spite of his strong will and mental alertness Skidmore’s
senses reeled; he managed to clutch the table and break
his fall as he dropped heavily to the floor. Dr. Mueller
lost consciousness with his eyes staring wide open. Pro-
fessor Kenworthy slid off his chair with a thud.
With dish towel in hand, Peters the colored cook,
rushed into the room after the second shock. The men
unconscious — the giant butterfly on the wing — the heavy
air, he could not comprehend, so he frantically raised the
windows and then batted savagely at the thing with his
towel. Hardly a second passed before it sensed the
draught and gracefully darted out the window!
The cool air revived the men within a few moments.
They staggered to their feet dumfounded. Skidmore
was first to break the silence.
“It is gone, boys. I should have acted more quickly ;
besides, I should have warned Peters. Oh why did he let
the thing get away ?”
“Have no regrets, Skidmore,” muttered Dr. Mueller.
“Just listen to him singing in the kitchen, oblivious of
our great loss. After all, the question will always arise
— if he had not opened the windows in the nick of time,
would we probably not have all been dead ?”
The End.
July, 1931
AMAZING STORIES
379
In the Realm of Books
Facts About the Ants
“ The Astonishing Ant," by Julie Closson
Kenly. Illustrated by Henry C. Kenly.
Published by D. Appleton & Company,
New York; London. Price $2.50.
W E take special interest in reviewing
this very attractive book. The readers
of Amazing Stories have had a
number of stories about ants presented to
them in our pages. Some of these stories
must have appeared rather remarkable or
even extravagant, as predicating such
power and intelligence for these little be-
ings. In this book there is no science fic-
tion, but scientific truth, a detailed account
of the insect whom the author terms
“astonishing.” It makes the ant appear
more wonderful than it has been depicted
in our pages. A clue to the work may be
obtained from the titles from a few of the
chapters, such as “Seeing Antland,” “Ant
Weddings,” “Ant Housekeeping,” “The
Ant Underworld,” “Mushroom Growing
Ants,” and we even have a chapter on the
Termites, whose popular name is White
Ants.
It can well be seen that twenty chapters
such as these will cover an immense amount
of ground. The most wonderful stories
are told about these insects, whose ways
seem almost human. Interesting as the
subject is to the distinguished authoress,
she says there is something sad about it,
since the Department of Agriculture in
Washington announces that ants destroy
millions and millions of dollars worth of
property in the United States alone, to
(Mostly Scientific Fiction)
say nothing of the combined losses.
In the tropics, ants are still worse than
in our country. One curious thing told
us is that there are some 1500 kinds of
termites (white ants).
Despite the fact that the book seems
to be written for children, we can hardly
say too much in its favor for perusal by
grown people. It has between two and
three hundred pages of most interesting
text and in the neighborhood of forty very
wonderful illustrations by Henry C. Kenly ;
besides these there are numerous little tail
pieces, every one of special interest.
Author and artist have certainly distin-
guished themselves in this book and after
you have read it you will come to the con-
clusion that the stories about ants which
we have given are not all exaggerated ex-
cept, of course, in the obvious necessity of
making a good story.
Another thing ; we were glad to see
a reference to Thoreau’s description of
the Battle of the Ants, which he saw when
he was living at Walden Pond, in his her-
mitage.
The destructive powers of the termites
and their concealed activities are very curi-
ous. They will reduce the wood of a piece
of furniture to dust without disturbing the
outside, so that a chair, intact to all appear-
ance, will crumble if one sits upon it. They
build clay nests twenty feet high. It is
in Africa that these great structures attain,
what may be termed, the perfection of size.
The book would be specially good read-
ing after some of our stories in this maga-
zine. — T. O’C. S.
Again — Mr. Fort
" Lo by Charles Fort. Published by
Claude Kendall, Neiv York. $2.50.
I N spite of very flattering comments by
such shining literati as Theodore
Dreiser and Booth Tarkington, I can
only say that I neither share their views
not their enthusiasm. Mr. Fort is apparently
presenting an outstanding collection of rec-
ords of unusual happenings and unexplained
phenomena going as far back as 1791. In
this book, as well as in his “Book of the
Damned,” there is an oft-occurring refer-
ence to mysterious rainfalls, causing the
appearance of frogs, fishes, worms, etc.
The generally accepted explanations have
never satisfied Mr. Fort, so he must attack
any and all explanations of any and all
phenomena as totally incorrect and absurd.
He is an expert mountain maker. Given
tiniest mole-hill, he will make the Hima-
layas hang their heads in shame. His
views on astronomy are somewhat peculiar
and astounding: The stars are about a
week’s travel away, to him, the earth is
pancake-shaped. And it seems to rile him
that scientific bodies do not welcome im-
proved theories or explanations with wide
open arms.
“Quien Sabe” as our Spanish friends
have it._ I am convinced that Mr. Fort
would vigorously deny, that two times two
make four and that any unquestionable
scientific proof for this small piece of
arithmetic should be held incorrect.
“Lo” amused me very much — C. A.
Brandt.
!ll!lll»! ffi.yi^m^ 5
S SION S
In this department we shall discuss, every month, topics of interest to readers. The editors invite correspondence on all
subjects directly or indirectly related to the stories appearing in this magazine. In case a special personal answer is required,
a nominal fee of 25c to cover time and postage is required.
A CANADIAN GIVES AN INTERESTING
ACCOUNT OF HOW HIS COUNTRY
REGARDS STANDING ARMIES
AND “PREPAREDNESS.”
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I enjoy very much your stories and even more
the discussions.
I think the scientific truth to be extracted from
your stories is over-estimated — the greatest asset
in science is the desire to know more than they
implant, thereby causing many readers to com-
mence a deeper study.
Many of your stories are too Amazing. Among
these I place “The Skylark Three” and “The
Black Star Passes.” The moving of a planet in
“Black Star Passes” is impossible as deviation
from its orbit would cause its destruction. “The
Skylark Three” is too full of almost impossible
possibility and too full of destruction.
“The Fourth-Dimensional Space Penetrator,”
which found so little favor with many of your
readers, I considered excellent, ruling out the pene-
trator, which was impossible, the theme was well
thought out and the possibility of Life on an Elec-
tron has a scientific possibility and what en-
hanced it there was no fighting but cooperation be-
tween scientists.
As we trace humanity from the dim recesses
of the past, we find that from a one time when
man delighted in slaughter, picturing himself even
in heaven (Valhalla) drinking out of the skulls
of his foes, he has progressed ’til now he sees war
in its true aspect, a horror we are seeking by all
means to abolish.
Therefore, is it not possible that the future on
earth will find world peace. Also that, should the
secret of space travel be found and intelligence
further advanced than ourselves be found, is it
not probable that they will conform to the same
Evolutionary law and be peace loving races?
You may reply that you must have action. May
I suggest that such action be found in planets like
Venus? The younger worlds, where the mon-
strosities that found places on our world in the
pre-glacier age live, and what a field for romance
the moon holds. Of a dying race in the ages past,
fighting an unsuccessful fight against nature, while
in their sight, but just beyond reach, a larger
world, our earth, just beginning a life supporting
era, what desires, what titanic efforts must have
taken place on the now scarred face of the moon
before final finis was written all too plain.
Lastly, as a Canadian, may I state the stories
dealing with world affairs are too American (U.
S.) ? Particularly a scientifiction paper like
Amazing Stories. We Canadians admire the
untiring energy and many excellent qualities, in
fact we humbly claim to be very much like you..
We know, however, that scientific and also social
achievement is world wide. The contributions to
world achievement vary with the characteristics of
the race. Britain gave exploration and develop-
ment and a fine literature. Germany — music,
France, Medical science. America is giving a
social and mechanical advancement previously
unknown. Above all, men like Einstein, Edding-
ton, Crookes, Millikan and Jeans are international,
so please let it be understood that as today science
is world wide, so too in the future will it de-
pend on the contributions of men independent of
race or creed. As with science, so with courage,
honor and love of truth.
I notice in December issue a New Zealander
brings up the subject but he implies that strengths
of present day armies and navies are the important
factors. We Canadians think differently, we with
no army or navy, who can boast less wars than
any country, we who have never been guilty of
aggression or an aggressive spirit, believe that the
important factor is the contribution each country
gives to the sum of world knowledge.
E. W. Chadwick,
112 Adelaide St.,
Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
(If our magazine and five others were to
take up a line of independent study it will have
done very good work. Our stories have had 3
strong fictional element and there is only room
for enough science to inspire the reader with de-
sire for further instruction. We are very glad to
get a criticism from Winnipeg, which has become
a true metropolis of the North West. The writer
has very pleasant recollections of a visit he paid
there some years ago. World achievement is cer-
tainly world wide. The improvements, even of
380
AMAZING STORIES
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the last decade have operated to bring Europe and
America closer together. We quite enjoy your
statement of the feeling of Canada, which, with
an immense range of country, dispenses with
army and navy. The United States are getting to
be very royalistic in their ways. Formerly it was
a refuge for the poor of other countries, and today
we have a Chinese wall around us. We maintain
the “noble experiment” by shooting and killing and
the result of our ways is, very little freedom. The
lines in Goldsmith’s poem:
“How small of all^that human hearts endure
That part which laws or kings can make or
cure”
certainly do not apply to America. The writer
has a feeling that density of population interferes
with personal liberty. When America had a popu-
lation of 30 or 40 millions, it was a very easy-
going place, compared to what it is at present.
The above lines are quoted from memory. They
are attributed to Dr. Johnson who is supposed to
have inserted them in Goldsmith’s “Traveler.” —
Editor.)
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AN ALLEGED “RECURRENT” PLEA
WHICH WE FIND DOES NOT DO
MUCH “RECURRING”; THE UN-
DERLYING TOPIC OF THE
NAME “AMAZING STORIES”
Editor, Amazing Stories:
That ever re-current plea which usually pops
up several times in every issue of Amazing
Stories — the request to change the title to “Scien-
tifiction,” is both the subject and object of this
letter.
It may interest you to know that, as an engineer
of the transient variety, and consequently, con-
stantly in contact with others of this profession, I
have come to the conclusion that a very large pro-
portion of your readers are engineers. Possibly
this is unknown to you, for it is read as a relaxa-
tion, due to the natural limitations of their life-
work, and also to their inherent progressiveness,
neither of which are conducive to correspondence.
Amazing Stories, while a title which is ad-
mittedly attention-holding, does not indicate or
suggest the actual contents of the magazine. It
is misleading, and while it may attract a few
temporary readers each month, they are lost as
readily, for the contents are not what the title
implied. I would venture to say that nine out of
ten of your regular readers accidentally “hap-
pened” on one of your issues, as I did, and in
casually perusing it, discovered a type of fiction
they had long sought. This is true with one
hundred per cent, of your readers whom I know.
I won’t tell you of the struggles that rage within
me each month, as I approach the newsstand for
my copy of the magazine. I blush to the ears as
I ask for Amazing Stories, not because I am
ashamed of the contents, but for the misleading
title and cover. For the same reason I object to
reading it in trains, or anywhere in public.
In your answer to one letter in the January
issue you state that “Scientifiction” is a coined
word, and consequently poor English. I’m sur-
prised — and I still would be surprised if I had
read it in the “Atlantic Monthly.” My dear sir
— all new words are coined — you will find hun-
dreds in the dictionary as a result of the Great
War. I believe “Radio” is coined. But why
go into detail?
Why not try an experiment? In one issue
inform your readers that the title will be
changed in the following issue to Scientifiction;
put it in a nice conservative jacket and get the
results, and if my prediction of a large increase
is not forthcoming, switch back to the old.
Your regular readers are surely of the type that
would welcome a little experimentation. You, if
consistent, should.
The result should be mutually beneficial.
M. S. Wexler,
New Hotel Creedon,
Ottawa, Illinois.
(Amazing Stories has gone under that name
for so many years that we hardly feel it would
be good policy to change its name, especially when
the magazine is doing well. The title is an old
one and entitled to respect for that reason. The
covers are done with the greatest thought and
care and have won encomiums as well as intelli-
gent criticism from many of our readers, as you
will find by looking over the Discussions col-
umns. In regard to coining of new words, any-
one who looks at Webster’s Unabridged Diction-
ary will feel that we should go very slowly in in-
troducing new words into the English language.
Experimenting with a popular magazine is a
dangerous pastime but we hope that you realize
that we particularly welcome such letters as yours,
where a correspondent shows himself a good
thinker and you certainly do that, — Editor.)
BRICKBATS GALORE. AN AMUSING
AND INTERESTING LETTER.
Editor. Amazing Stories:
Using the “Menace from Andromeda” (April,
1931) as an opening, I hereby dive in that open-
ing to pen and paw you.
I understood from the story the hero’s dis-
covery of “Alcoreth” in the nebula of An-
dromeda, took place when “Alcoreth” was in
the throes of an organic upheaval. Andromeda,
being nearly a million light years from us — ergo
— the view that he (the hero) got on his photo-
graphic plate took place nearly a million light
years ago and traveling at the speed of light,
the protoplasmic emanations would strip the
world of over “nearly a million light years” in
the future, from the time he saw the scene. To
make myself plainer, it would take “nearly a
million light years” for an article dispatched
from “Alcoreth” to reach us, yet it obligingly
(for the story) took just over a year. All of
which proves that this story ended “nearly a
million light years” too soon. Our minds,
though, of course, have to be elastic enough to-
stretch from here to Alcoreth, without snapping
under the strain, this being made possible by the
fact that -we will read these stories.
I am by nature a critic, an amateur critic of
a low rating, the small, mean kind, that take a
keen delight in finding fault (mentally) with
everything that comes their way. I look forward
to your publications every month, fume when
it has not arrived at the newsstand, etc., read it,
enjoy it, revere your editorial, sneer at the letter
writers at the end of the book, blush when I see
the bizarre pictures on the cover, tear them off
so that nobody will see what I am reading, gloat
in the fact that never yet have I found an illus-
tration that actually coincides with the story,
along with the drawing being architecturally and
mechanically perfect, and smile arrogantly when
I find a glaring, simple mathematical or mechan-
ical mistake, but, however, that is my own pecu-
liar way of living and enjoying life, and for the
four years I have been reading your magazine,
never yet have I regretted buying a copy. Your
bad stories show up your good ones and vice-
versa. Some of the stories that you offer to the
public are analogous with presenting Einstein
with a dime novel and also with casting straw-
berries before donkeys. But I’ll take all that
you offer, and promise you, never again will I
hold correspondence with your office (unless I
come across a 100% A-l illustration).
G. Hyde Parker,
176 Caledonia Road,
Toronto 10, Ontario, Canada
(Your very amusing letter suggests to an im-
partial observer that your “peculiar way of liv-
ing and enjoying life” is hardly the right one,
for it does not seem a correct view of life to find
your pleasure in detecting the weakness of other
people. You speak of sneering at the “Letter
Writers” at the end of the book. Personally we
consider the “Discussions” column very inter-
esting reading and many readers turn to that the
minute they get the magazine. Your tearing off
the covers is a very poor practice. You have no
idea of the amount of thought given to them and
they are all drawn by excellent artists. Your
doing this indicates sensitiveness on your part
and sensitiveness is a quality which may make
life rather miserable. Do you know that there
have been many critics, -who quite admire dime
novels and that one of Einstein’s recreations is
the very simple one of sailing about in a little
boat? But don’t let us lose you as a corre-
spondent, for we thoroughly enjoyed the spice in
your letter. — Editor.)
A HIGH TRIBUTE TO MR. VERRILL
APROPOS OF HIS STORY ABOUT
THE BLOOD CORPUSCLE
Editor, Amazing Stories:
Although I have been reading Amazing Stories
for two years, this is my first letter to the Dis-
cussions Columns. I have just finished reading
the February issue. My reason for writing this
letter is to congratulate you and Mr. Verrill on
his story, “The Exterminator.” To my way of
thinking it is wonderful.
Being a premedical student at the University
of Maine, I have had some laboratory work on
the human blood. After reading about one third
of the story, I came to the conclusion that the
“Exterminator” was a white blood corpuscle;
which surmise turned out to be true.
Mr. Verrill’s way of describing the life of the
“Exterminator” was very interesting. He fol-
lowed the creature through the blood stream,
seemingly reading its mind. He described its
life when the patient was in good health, and
July, 1931
AMAZING STORIES
381
when he was sick. Mr. Ver rill’s description of
the corpuscle’s “thoughts” was marvelous. It
seemed to me that I was with the creature when
the vessel was broken.
The only thing in the - story that puzzled me
was the name of the disease that the patient had
when the blood was drawn for the slide. I would
like to know what it was.
There is, in my opinion, only one fault with
your, pardon me, “our” magazine, and that is:
it contains too many stories about the same things.
Why not publish some stories about surgery?
Also, I would like to see more stories by Miles
Breuer, Dr. Keller, Mr. Verrill, and Captain
Meek.
Edward H. Cook,
55 Bennoch St.,
Orono, Maine
(We have, before now, said that Mr. Verrill
was a well-known author. He has written a
quantity of matter, much of it serious, on
archeology, ethnology and similar topics, much
on topics interesting to young people and part of
it fiction. Some of the fiction was for the young
and that is conceded to be the most difficult of
all fictional writing. We certainly have had
stories about surgery, telling of almost miracles
which were supposed to have been done by the
operators. As one of the very last we would
cite, Dr. Keller’s story, “The Ambidexter,” which
is very distinctly surgical, that tells of a horrible
surgical event perpetrated by an Oriental on an
Occidental. We are sure you will see many more
stories by the four favorite authors whom you
name in conclusion. — Editor.)
A VIVID LETTER FROM A FOUNTEEN-
YEAR-OLD CORRESPONDENT
Editor, Amazing Stories:
Saaay ! what’s happened in the last four or five
months to make good old Amazing Stories so
swell? I never dreamed a magazine could be so
good. Why — do you know in the last few issues
there wasn’t one story which I didn’t consider
excellent? If they continue to get any better I’m
afraid you will, in a short while, exceed all limits
of improvement.
Here is my way of rating the stories in the
January number; — Excellent: “The Prince of
Space,” “Tanks Under the Sea,” “The Black
Hand,” “Via the Time Accelerator,” “The Drums
of Tapajos,” “The Act of Retipuj.”
Now for the covers : Of late they have been ex-
cellent. All except the November and January
issues. Reason? I do not think they were well
chosen. Why, oh whyl Mr. Editor, don’t you pen
those nightmarish monsters up inside the maga-
zine? Speaking of the covers and those night-
marish monsters reminds me of the experience I
had with one the other night.
It was about midnight and I was thirsty. So,
in view of the latter fact, I switched on the light
and started to climb out of bed. As I did so my
glance happened to rest on the cover of the No-
vember A. S. You know, that one where “The
Globoid Terror” is about to settle the “hash” of
his three victims. Well sir, being as I was only
half-awake it startled me so that I let out a yelp
and fell to the floor, flat on my face, with all my
bed-clothes on top of me. Before going back to bed
I put the magazine at the bottom of a pile of
others.
Before closing the cover discussions, I wish to
ask a question. What was the round red and yel-
low thing on the January cover for?
It may interest you to know that I have gained
for you exactly nine new readers, three of whom
are teachers.
Although Amazing Stories conveys almost
everything I can wish for, I will never forgive
you for letting — get “The Snake Mother.”
Yes I’ve read it; and boy is it swell? But I
would have rather have seen it in A. S.
Jim H. Nicholson,
40 Lunado Way,
San Francisco, Calif.
P.S. What is your advice to an amateur
author ?
P.P.S. I am a “mere boy” of 14 years.
(This letter comes from a member of the Boy’s
Scientifiction Club. As the reader will see, he is
only fourteen years old. We are very glad to
have teachers for our readers. We doubt very
much if the picture of the “Globoid Terror” alone
frightened you. You would be surprised if you
knew the amount of thought and criticism that
is devoted to our covers. We want them to please
the serious reader, but we want them also to at-
tract the attention of those who do not know the
magazine, so these different considerations operate
to make them somewhat unconventional and per-
haps if we could make them still more unconven-
tional, it would be good for our circulation. Our
advice to an amateur author, which you ask for,
would be to unhesitatingly try his hand at some
writing, for if he fails to place it, it will be the
best kind of practice; but the life of a free-lance
writer is a habitual disappointment. The January
cover showed the sun seen from Mars. — Editor.)
A TRIBUTE TO CAPTAIN MEEK; DR.
BREUER’S “ON THE MARTIAN
LINER;” ENDOCRINOLOGY
IN A STORY
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have just finished the March issue of Amaz-
ing Stories and felt that I should write you as
to the reaction that occurred.
This issue was a fairly good one, but the story
that took first place in my mind was “The
Earth’s Cancer,” by Capt. S. P. Meek. I sup-
pose the only reason I liked this story was be-
cause the research on cancer is my favorite hobby,
or if it is not a hobby, it is a great enjoyment.
Capt. Meek has always written good stories and
this one appealed to me greatly. The story “On
the Martian Liner” was a pure disappointment
to me: I am not trying to say that the story
should be placed in the scrap basket, but for it to
be written by Dr. Miles J. Breuer —
“The Thing That Walked in the Rain” was a
fair story as they go, but if little more endocri-
nology was added it might have increased the
benefits of the explanation a little more; I don’t
know. A little comment on “The Valley of
Titans” — it is true that the name Amazing Stories
implies that things be extraordinary and fantastic
but those fantastic things should have a half-
wav decent scientific explanation, as the maga-
zine is also^ said to be scientific . I am not
referring to the control of the speed of evolu-
tion, though that is slightly out of the ordinary:
I refer to the misty ones of Novad Ehasor,
about whom I would like an explanation. Also,
how about some good stories on atomic energy,
biology and the disappearance of women from the
earth ?
Arnold Wolf,
640 Riverside Drive,
New York City.
(We are greatly pleased with such letters as
yours, which criticize, even if unfavorably. You
must remember that what pleases one person does
not please another. Personally, we thought
Dr. Breuer’s story about the “Travelers to Mars”
was extremely good. It had adventure and sus-
pense and we are confident that our readers as a
whole enjoyed it as we did. We admit that the
explanation in “The Thing That Walked in the
Rain” might have been a little fuller and per-
haps the “Endocrine Ductless Gland” might have
been added to the comments. You are getting
stories about two of the subjects you mention
in the last lines of your letters. — Editor.)
A STORY WHICH IS AMAZING BECAUSE
IMPOSSIBLE. EVOLUTION. THE
BENEFICIAL EFFECTS OF THE
SUN
Editor, Amazing Stories:
This is my first letter to our magazine and I
wonder how you will take it.
Your stories are “It,” but I would like to see
them a little more “amazing.” The story which
I think is the most amazing is “World Atavism.”
It is amazing because it is impossible. Man did
not descend from a mammal, and since his creation
remained to be man and will continue to be so as
long as this world exists. This also goes for all
other creatures. Whatever man does is accom-
plished by evolution, is this not true?
Indeed, the sun has many beneficial powers, and
if the theory of evolution were true, I think
such a thing as World Atavism could be possible.
I really enjoyed the story, and I hope that
there will be many more stories as good as this
one. The February issue you printed on differ-
ent paper, which makes the magazine much thin-
ner. I was glad to see this, as I bind all of
my copies into books.
Ray Ullmann,
620 N. Simmons Ave.,
Kirkwood, Mo.
(We will let this letter speak for itself. There
are all sorts of views on the subject you allude
to. In the 80’s and 90’s of the last century, rigid
views on evolution held sway, but it is very in-
teresting to see how the points of view have been
changed in the present century by such men as
Jeans, Millikan, and others, men equally dis-
tinguished, having individual ideas about this
world of ours. — Editor.)
RUDOLPH L. DUNCAN, President, RCA
Institutes, Inc., Member, Institute of Radio
Engineers; Member, Radio Club of America;
Member, Veteran Wireless Operators Associ-
ation; Captain, SCR, United States Army.
A Radio
message
To men who are
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by R. L. DUNCAN
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382
AMAZING STORIES
July, 1931
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AN EXCELLENT EXPOSITION OF TRAV-
ELING TO THE MOON. THE EF-
FECT OF ITS LOW GRAVITY
ON A HAMMER BLOW
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I am writing concerning one of the stories in
the February issue, “The Man Who Annexed the
Moon,” by Bob Olsen. This was an interesting
and exciting story, but it seemed to me he over-
stepped the boundaries of present-day fact a little
too far without giving any adequate reason. The
greatest error was in his method of utilizing the
orbital velocity of the earth to get to the moon.
Granting the premise that it would be possible
to release the ship from the earth's gravitation, it
would be possible to use the orbital velocity of
the earth to get to the moon, but not in the way
he suggested.
It is a well recognized law in physics that
when a body is moving in a curved path there
must be a cetripedal force operating inward along
the radius of the curvature equal to and opposed
to the centrifugal force.
Thus, the analogy, which was given of the boy
towed on skates, was false in some details, for
when the boy made the U turn, the ice would
supply the force necessary to turn him, computed
by the above statement. If this force were not
present, he could not turn, as is easily shown
when you run on ice without skates and try to
turn. The same difficulty was encountered in
early aviation attempts before the scheme of
banking on turns was discovered. The rudder
turned the nose of the ship, but the ship con-
tinued going in its original direction. That is,
the orientation of the ship with reference to its
line of velocity was changed, but the line of
velocity was not.
Velocity is a vector quantity, expressing direc-
tion as well as magnitude. Momentum is mea-
sured by the product of the mass and velocity,
m x v. The statement that the momentum was
practically the same after they had made their
U turn is, then, false, for the velocity was in a
different direction. The force necessary to change
the direction of the velocity would be extremely
large at any reasonable radius of curvature, for at
the velocity of 67,600 m.p.h. or 99,100 ft. /sec.
the quantity m v would be tremendous. This
force was in no way accounted for in the story,
but it seemed taken for granted that once the
nose of the ship was pointed in a given direction,
the velocity would automatically change. This
is a little too much to pass without explanation.
Another minor point was left out which, how-
ever, would have little effect on this story. From
the point where the earth’s gravitational force
was cut off it is not stated whether this also cut
off the gravitational pull of the sun. If it did,
the earth would not then be traveling with the
ship, but the ship would leave at a tangent to
the earth’s orbit. It is this fact that might be
used in a flight to the moon, for in a short time
the tangent would intersect the orbit of the moon,
and thus a flight might be accomplished without
the impossible bending back and change of
velocity direction.
Another inconsistency was the difficulty ex-
perienced in driving the drill with a hammer on
the moon. True, the hammer would have less
weight on the moon, but the most important factor
in using a hammer is not its weight, but its mo-
mentum at the instant of# impact, and momen-
tum in mass, which is unaffected by gravitation.
The effectiveness of the hammer would be little
impaired, for the force of gravity is an inconsider-
able feature, as is shown by the fact that it is
easy to drive a nail into a vertical wall where the
force of gravity is no assistance whatever,
I like the stories and illustrations as a whole,
although the illustrations are often inaccurate.
For example, the cover on the February number
shows the entire heads of the adventurers with
their sleekly combed hair, while the story dis-
tinctly says that before putting on the space suit
they donned a “union suit made of wool. It had
a tight-fitting hood which covered the head and
lower part of face, leaving only the eyes and
nose exposed.” Little errors like this detract
from the enjoyment of the really good illustra-i
tions.
Ernest M. Stanton,
716 18th Street,
Santa Monica, California
(We find your letter extremely interesting. It
is a good illustration of what we might almost
call a function of our work — the awakening of
scientific interest by fiction. You have heard of
hitting the nail on the head. It is a proverbial
expression. We can compliment you on your
success in hitting the drill on the head. You
speak of driving a nail through a vertical wall; a
still more extreme case would be of driving one
still more against gravity directly up into the
ceiling. We thank you for calling our attention
to the slight. error on the cover page. — Editor.)
AN INTERPLANETARY MONTHLY
ASKED FOR
An Interesting Letter from the Antipodes
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I suppose I am slightly premature in my writing
to you, as I have only seen eight of your issues
of Amazing Stories, but I feel that I must
write to you, and draw your attention to an
astronomical error which Mr. Nathanson com-
mitted in his story, “The Passing Star,” Septem-
ber issue, 1930. The third question in your
Science Questionnaire is “What is the distance
of the nearest star?” (see page 509). On page
509 Mr. Nathanson states that Alpha Centauri
L/l/3 light years distant is our nearest neighbor
in the Stellar World. This is not so. Several
years ago, a faint star, also in the constellation
of the Centaurus Proxima Centauri was found
to be three billion miles nearer than Alpha. I am
quoting Joseph McCabe, in his book, “Wonders
of the Stars.” Now that I have chastised you,
I will try to make amends.
Amazing Stories, I think, is by far the best
scientific fiction magazine published, and I shall
proceed to treat the magazine in sections. First,
the stories. They are all very good, with, of
course, the exception of one or two. I think the
worst I have read is “The Act of Retipuj.” The
best I ever read is “Skylark Three.” The latter
story was marvelous, and although I am only
aged twelve, I appreciate it fully. My favorite
authors are Dr. Smith, Dr. Breuer, Taylor Han-
sen, Jack Williamson, Harl Vincent, Captain
Meek, and Charles Cloukey. The artists and
drawings — of all your artists, Wesso is su-
preme. His drawings are so accurate and life-
like, that it is hard to believe that they are not
photographs. Morey and Paul are his greatest
rivals. He has nothing to fear from the others.
The discussions are very interesting. The theory
propounded by P. G. Miller, that Neptune is
an invader from space, is very ingenious, and
should be given serious consideration. The Edi-
torials are always very instructive and well
written. I especially liked the one in the Sep-
tember, 1930, issue, about the atom and the stars.
The paper is all right, but there is one thing I
do not like about Amazing Stories, and that is
the way its covers are bound. They fall off
very easily, and one does not like to disfigure
such splendid drawings as you have on the
covers by pasting them on again. Interplanetary
and Fourth Dimension stories are my favorites.
And while I am on the subject, how about an
Interplanetary monthly? I am sure it would
be met with approval by readers of Amazing
Stories. Somebody, I forget who, suggested it
in Discussions.
G. Weste,
Booscy Via The Amasise,
Victoria, Australia.
(Your letter is quite surprising for one of your
age. It seems as if in Australia the boy becomes
father of the man at a very early age. If you
go at it rightly, you can paste the cover on
again when it has come loose without touching
the front, by attaching your paper slip to the in-
side. It is very pleasant to have our cover page
illustrations appreciated. You probably have no
idea of the amount of thought which is bestowed
upon them by artists and editors. Our next
Quarterly is an Interplanetary one and is so
designated on the cover. It contains nearly
twice the matter of a monthly so that it repre-
sents nearly twice what you are asking for — in
other words, two Interplanetary monthlies. We
have done this in answer to numerous requests,
and we will be much interested in seeing how
the Interplanetary Quarterly will be received.
The Spring Quarterly will contain four classic
interplanetary stories. We consider it quite a
compliment to get a letter from an Australian cor-
respondent. We like the young. — Editor.)
THE IMPROVED AMAZING STORIES
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have on hand a copy of the December, 1926,
issue of Amazing Stories and I must say it
certainly has improved since that time.
In the first place the paper is much better, as
are also the illustrations.
And say, why can’t we have some more stories
by H. G. Wells?
“The Man Higher Up,” by Edwin Balmer
and William B. MacHarg, is a fairly good story.
“The Time Eliminator,” by Kaw — good.
“Through the Crater’s Rim,” by A. Hyatt
Verrill — poor.
July, 1931
AMAZING STORIES
383
“The Lord of the Winds,” by Augusto Bissieri
— fair.
“The Telepathic Pick-Up,” by Samuel M.
Sargent, Jr. — good.
“The Educated Harpoon,” by Charles S. Wolfe
— very good.
Since that time the “Discussions,” “What Do
You Know,” and “Editorials” have been added,
all of which are greatly appreciated by the aver-
age reader of Amazing Stories.
As you notice, I have listed no “excellent”
stories in the above mentioned issue, but wait
until I come to more recent issues!
I make no comment on the serials because I
did not get to finish them.
I now come to the Spring Edition. 1930 issue
of Amazing Stories Quarterly.
The cover is excellent 1 When I saw that it
was a scene from Aladra Septama’s story,
“Dragons of Space,” I could hardly wait until
I got home before I started reading it.
The editorial, “Scientific Responsibility,” by
Victor A. Endersby, was very good.
“Reclaimers of the Ice,” by Stanton A. Co-
blentz, was very good. The illustrations to it
were very good.
“Dragons of Space,” by Aladra Septama, was
excellent! The best story in the issue. In my
estimation, Aladra Septama is your best writer.
Keep him by all means. The illustrations to
“Dragons of Space” were excellent.
“The Flying Threat,” by David H. Keller,
M.D., and the illustrations were very good.
David H. Keller, M.D., is one of your very best
writers.
“The Red Ray,” by Dan Fabers, was good;
so was the illustration.
All in all the Spring Quarterly was very good.
Why don’t we have some more stories by
H. G. Wells, and some by Edgar Rice Bur-
roughs?
I haven’t a copy of the W inter Quarterly of
1930. but as I remember it, “Tani of Ekkis,” by
Aladra Septama, was the most interesting story.
It is cue of the best, if not the very best story
I hive ever read. “White Lily,” by John Taine,
was §:od, but it was not amazing enough. “The
As: run ding Enemy,” was a very good ant story.
I bcce yru will publish more insect stories in the
future 'Dirigibles of Death,” by A. Hyatt
Yerr. —is too gruesome. It was not as good
as ris s::r:es generally are.
The illustrations by Wesso and Morey were
ver; especially the cover picture.
The Readers’ Viewpoint,” was too short.
Tie Universe Wreckers,” by Edmond Ham-
Tt:u -which began in the May, 1930 issue of
Ai-tiv Stories Monthly was an excellent
scary :::m an excellent writer.
L. E. Connerley,
Jacksonville, Oregon
Te are giving, in every issue, the three sec-
u:n: . : u mention, but the Editorials started with
me i-s: number, the Questionnaire and the Dis-
:u . - . ' is came later. We feel that it is a great
c:n: ment to the results of our efforts to receive
sum lemers as yours. An editor has to be in-
set sure to criticism, which he is sure to get,
•w i -smer he does good or bad work, so you can
jee mu: your letter makes pleasant reading for
m; edzzcrs whose effort is to please our readers.
— njoe*.)
A “ 1ZASANT THOUGHTFUL LETTER
7-1H AN ENGLISH CORRESPONDENT
£i -.n Amazing Stories:
As an ardent reader of your magazine Amazing
Sulims, I feel I must make my contribution to
Zu-u_;s:ons.” In the December issue of your
Earn me I notice that a fellow reader, Mr. Kirby
Nfv Zealand, brings up a matter concerning —
: me. Now, although I am a true and loyal
3 nr mer in its strictest sense, my admiration
gne s :ut to Americans of the United States, partly
imue of their struggle along truly progressive
hr ns and partly because in spite of the polyglot
im amities which comprises your nation, you
welded in a bond of Yankee brotherhood.
V : m writers, some of whom I admire intensely,
u; arst and foremost Americans and their knowl-
edge :s of American ideals and generalities. If
m;- turned their imagination towards, say, the
I -rmsh. Empire, the result would be out of focus,
fur every nation has its own methods and would
f: distort the virile, ultra-keen American idea
•r-.th the phlegmatic, exacting British mind. No
5:r. American writers will not shine as Cosmo-
politans, nor for that matter will any writer, and
co j ustice to himself and his ideas. So let them
:urry on with their futurist and progressive ideals
in their natural vein and they will please the ma-
jority of intelligent persons.
Other countries, alas, have not your type of
writers to be able to inflame its citizens with their
country’s future greatness. Look at Britain for
instance. Although I have burrowed into li-
braries, searched every publishers’ list, I can only
produce one such writer. Granted, he is one of
the greatest sciei%tifiction scribes, he is the only
one I speak of: H. G. Wells. In England it is
even considered mentally abnormal to read future,
interplanetary or dimensional stories. So although
I have been able to get my copy with difficulty, I
shall be able to keep in touch regularly, I hope,
and enjoy my copy in spite of adverse opinions.
I have only known your magazine for a year. I
picked up last February’s number at Woolworth’s
but have since been able to read the current
number. Perhaps some kind reader who may have
a few back numbers to dispose of would communi-
cate with me. I may have something in exchange
for them if he wants, in the way of books, periodi-
cals, etc.
So carry on with good work and let us have
some stories like “Callisto at War,” “The Green
Girl,” “Menace from Mars,” etc. The magazine
is really top hole and I haven’t an adverse criti-
cism for it except that I don’t care for stories like
the “Feathered Detective,” “The Secret King-
dom,” etc. There is no scientifiction about them.
This month’s magazine is great, “The Drums of
Tapajos” being a splendid yarn.
Leo Greenhill,
5 Market Terrace,
St. Lenerock-on-sea, Sussex, England.
(An old time Democrat, the writer believes that
the best governed people are the least governed,
and is an upholder of States Rights, and is some-
times sorry to see the welding operation going on
so industriously, as to wipe out all the distinctive
characteristics of the many nations represented
here. There should be no trouble in getting
Amazing Stories in England for we have several
agents there in London. You must be near enough
to the great city to be able to run in now and
then. Your request for back numbers is in line
with the wants of a number of our readers and
sometimes, of our own Editorial Department, and
we hope that this letter will put you in touch with
someone who can supply your wants. We get a
good many letters from London. It is evident that
our magazine pleases the natives of the British
Isles and we are particularly pleased when we
get an appreciation from an English reader, be-
cause we always regard the Englishman as being
a most severe critic. But criticism is a good
thing for editors, and you will see that we publish
letters of severe criticism, as well as those of
appreciation. The severe ones, we are glad to
say, are not very frequent. We sometimes wonder
whether the public realizes that the letters in our
Discussions Column are bona fide transcriptions
of the letters received. We can assure our read-
ers that they are. — Editor.)
TELEVISION HILL CRITICIZED
Editor, Amazing Stories:
I have been reading Amazing Stories regularly
for a year and on the whole I have enjoyed the
stories therein. However, I would like to com-
ment on the latest serial story, “Television Hill,”
by George McLociard, This story started very,
very promising in the February issue, and con-
tinued well in the March issue up till the end
and at this point, after being carried away by
enthusiasm by the body of the story, I was
dashed into the depths of despair by our old
enemy, “the wrecked machinery.” Just the old
plot about the brainy scientist, his great invention,
which would change the whole history of the
world, and a beautiful daughter. Only the au-
thor has skillfully camouflaged and redecorated
it. Then again, in answer to Vic Gilmer’s letter,
you say, “Sex stuff never appears in Amazing
Stories.” Doesn’t it?
W. Johnston,
506 W. 173rd St,
New York City, N, Y.
(We agree it was too bad to have all that ma-
chinery wrecked. When you speak of an old
plot, does it not seem clear that with the multi-
tude of short stories that are pouring out of our
magazines here and abroad, that the plots must
practically be repeated over and over again in
endlessly varying form? There is a theory or a
statement that there are very few jokes and that
the new ones are but rehashes of the old ones.
As regards “sex stuff,” as we used the expression,
we applied it to the disagreeable, and certainly
no disagreeable “sex” copy has ever appeared in
Amazing Stories. — Editor.)
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OPPORTUNITY AD-LETS
These columns will appear monthly in Amazing Stories
Rate — Eight cents a word. Cash should accompany all advertisements unless placed by an
accredited advertising agency. Advertisements for less than 10 words not accepted.
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A REQUEST FOR A SEQUEL TO
“TELEVISION HILL”
Editor, Amazing Stories:
As the most ardent reader of “our” magazine
(to my mind), I have a special request to make of
its publishers. It is simply this: Please induce
Mr. George McLociard into creating, as soon as
possible, a sequel to his most wonderful serial,
“Television Hill.”
After reading the conclusion ( ?) of this truly
remarkable story in the March number, my mind
simply refused to allow me to read anything . else
for thinking of it. This letter gives me some
relief, as there is just the remotest possibility of
its bearing results.
To my mind, the story, wonderful as it was, is -
incomplete.
I absolutely refuse to believe that the two
scientists, Cyrus King and Bob Wentworth, were
killed in the airplane crash. The reports were
entirely too vague and uncertain. They might
easily have “faked” the crash and escaped to
some remote place inaccessible by the island
people’s projector, and started the construction
of a bigger and better machine, with which to
sort of “even up” scores with their enemies.
W. R. Baker,
Box 705,
Kiefer, Okla.
(We are delighted to see that you have enjoyed
“Television Hill.” It certainly is a very re-
markable story and the strange succession of
events in it and the variety of incidents have a
gradual tapering down, as it were, from impend-
ing achievement, to the wreck that so often affects
human efforts. We hope that Mr. McLociard
will accept your hint. — Editor.)
STATEMENT OF THE OWNERSHIP, MAN-
AGEMENT, CIRCULATION, ETC., RE-
QUIRED BY THE ACT OF CONGRESS OF
AUGUST 24, 1912, Of AMAZING STORIES,
published monthly at Jamaica, N. Y., for April
1st, 1931. ■,
State of New York,
County of New York,
ss.
Before me, a Notary Public in and for the
State ^ and county aforesaid, personally appeared
T. O’ Conor Sloane, who, having been duly sworn
according to law, deposes and says that he is
the Editor of the AMAZING STORIES and that
the^ following is, to the best of his knowledge and
belief, a true statement of the ownership, man-
agement (and if a daily paper, _ the circulation),
etc., of the aforesaid publication for the date
shown in the above caption, required by the Act
of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 411,
Postal Laws and Regulations, printed on the re- >
verse of this form, to wit:
1. That the names and addresses of the pub-
lisher, editor, managing editor, and business
managers are: Publisher, Radio-Science Publica-
tions, Inc., 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City;
Editor, T. O’Conor Sloane, 381 Fourth Avenue,
New York City; Managing Editor, Miriam
Bourne, 381 Fourth Avenue, New York City;
Business Managers, None.
2. That the owner is: (If owned by a corpora-
tion, its name and address must be stated and ad- j
dresses of stockholders owning or holding one <
per cent or more of total amount of stock.) Radio-
Science Publications, Inc., 381 Fourth Avenue,
New York City; B. A. Mackinnon, 225 Varick
Street, New York City; H. K. Fly, 225 Varick *
Street, New York City; R. B. Asmus, 551 Fifth
Avenue, New York City.
3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees,
and other security holders owning or holding 1
per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mort-
gages, or other securities, are: None.
4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving
the names of the owners, stockholders, and secur-
ity holders, if any, contain not only the list of
stockholders and security holders as they appear
upon the books of the company but also, in cases
where the stockholder or security holder appears
upon the books of the company as trustee or in
any other fiduciary relation, the name of the
person or corporation for whom such trustee is
acting, is given; also that the said two paragraphs
contain statements embracing affiant's full knowl-
edge and belief as to the circumstances and condi-
tions under which stockholders and security
holders who do not appear upon the books of the
company as trustees, hold stock and securities in
a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner;
and this affiant has no reason to believe that any
other person, association, or corporation has any
interest direct or indirect in the said stock, bonds,
or other securities than as so stated by him.
T. O’CONOR SLOANE.
Sworn to and subscribed before me this 27th
day of March, 1931.
(Seal.) Joseph H. Kraus.
Notary Public, Queens County Clerk’s No. 1003,
Queens County Register’s No. 6434, New York
County Register’s No. 1K252, New York Countv
30, 1931.
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